Prince of Swords
by AndroidSister
Summary: A S5 AU: Mordred is Morgana's illegitamate son, discarded at birth by Uther. The Druid is determined to control his own destiny. Arthur is determined to right the damage done by Uther's deception, and become a worthy King. Also, Merlin is a little faster on the uptake. Style is vaguely influenced by House of Cards. Maybe give it a try if you like Mordred/didn't like the finale
1. Introduction

**PRINCE OF SWORDS**

 _(A/N: I posted this under T because I'm sick of hiding my stories away under the M rating. If you guys feel that I need to make it stronger though, just let me know. There is violence in this and fleeting instances of profanity, but I'd call it fairly tame. It's just not a children's story.)_

Introduction

 **Three years ago...Mordred turned fifteen years old and learned of the destiny foretold for him. (He had a better idea)**

Mordred and Morgana sat across from each other at the dinner table in the cold, dank ruins of one of Morgause's previous dwellings. Morgana was listening to a report from one of her minions who'd just failed to gather any useful information about Emrys' identity and whereabouts. For once, Mordred didn't mind the disruption. He was too caught up in his own thoughts, having just learned of a prophecy - _his_ prophecy - the night before. It felt more like a curse.

Mordred hadn't been where he was meant to be at that time of night. The dungeons were off limits. He had been feeling listless, unable to sleep, yet too tired to do much of anything. So, as he often did over the past year or so that they'd spent together, he searched out the comfort of his Lady's presence. Halting, stock-still, outside the dungeon he had not only heard, but felt the screams and torment of an older mind not unlike his own. The prisoner was another Clairvoyant. Morgana's voice from the other side of the door had sounded harsher and more frightening than he had ever heard it, demanding information on Emrys and Camelot. When she burst out through the doors and found Mordred standing there, the High Priestess stopped short. Remorse crossed her pale face for a fleeting moment. Mordred barely acknowledged her, unable focus on anything but the aged rasp invading his mind.

 _"I know you, Boy. Your destiny was foretold. A Druid child, able to bring the entire kingdom to its knees. You would be_ _Arthur's Bane_ _..."_

Mordred's eyes locked with the Druid sorcerer's. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't blink. In his mind he was crying out, **"No! No! No! I don't want this! It isn't true!"** but he knew the old man wasn't lying. He would have felt it.

 _"The future is not yet certain... You must alter your path before-"_

"Mordred!" Morgana grabbed him by his shoulders and hauled him away from the dungeon, slamming the doors shut with a burst of magic for good measure. "Mordred? Look at me!" Her hands were fluttering worriedly over his face and arms, and her pale green eyes were open wide. His unblinking stillness had sent her into minor hysterics.

"Arthur's bane..." Mordred murmured hollowly.

The brilliant smile that phrase had brought to Morgana's face was enough to make him feel physically ill. Mordred was facing a living nightmare, yet Morgana had looked as though her dearest wishes had been granted - by her brother's death. Mordred had seen the glee slip from her face as he collapsed into her arms. When he awoke again she had slaughtered the prisoner in a fit of rage, blaming him for Mordred's illness. More proof, in Mordred's eyes, that he must be cursed, but when he'd touched Morgana's mind her madness had focused him. The horror that he had originally felt was replaced by a cool, detatched sort of calm.

 _"...Alter your path..."_

Mordred was brought back out of his reverie by Morgana slamming her goblet down on the table, sloshing a little wine over the side while she turned on her unlucky minion. Mordred in contrast didn't even bat an eyelash, continuing his meal as though he might even be a hundred miles away at a much calmer dining table. He knew Morgana's true self now. He had no need to fear her.

("One of the greatest lessons that Lady Morgana taught me was the true nature of 'necessary evils,' " Mordred confides. "Everybody has them. Growing up as a Clairvoyant, I have heard them all. To King Uther, killing all Druids in order to purge those with magic was a necessary evil. To Prince Arthur, hunting down and killing those with magic to enforce his father's laws was a necessary evil, and to his guardian, Lord Emrys, leaving his own kind to perish while he serves amidst our murderers was, and is, a necessary evil. These excuses make the dark truths behind our actions more palatable, and far easier to avoid. I cannot allow myself such concessions; the fastest way to succumb to the darkness is failing to recognize that darkness which already lies within oneself.")

Morgana shouted at the soldier, again, about how she would do whatever it took to claim the throne that was rightfully hers and bring their kind the future that they deserved. This supposedly meant that they had to kill Emrys, but Mordred wasn't foolish enough to voice his dissenting opinion on the matter.

(Instead, he watches impassively, then returns to his previous train of thought, "A necessary evil often speaks of a person's tendency to lie to themselves. It allows them to see themselves as they wish they were. Which is why _she_ hasn't seen this coming.")

Morgana's rant was interrupted by a loud crash from outside, and a minion's shout of "Emrys! He's here!"

Morgana and her two guards rushed towards the commotion. Mordred calmly stood and strode away in the other direction, unnoticed.

"Mordred, do you not intend to aid in the defense?" Another guard asked as Mordred walked past him towards his private chambers. Mordred turned back and looked him directly in the eye.

"You seem tired," he stated in a speculative tone.

The guard frowned down at him, but it quickly turned into a wide yawn. The larger man slumped to the ground, lost in a deep slumber in the Druid's wake.

When Morgana reached the front entryway to see the one-sided battle that her men were carrying out against an imaginary foe, she looked down at the green cloak draped over the stone railing beside her and lifted it up to reveal the glowing lump of smoky quartz hidden beneath. Morgana's eyes widened in realization.

"Mordred!" she breathed, hoping, in a near panic, that she was wrong. Morgana whirled round and bolted back to the dining room. A shattering crash sounded from down the hall. Her breathing visibly quickened as she hurried past the unconscious guard and burst into Mordred's bedroom murmuring "No, no, no..." The chained-shut doors to the balcony had been blasted open, leaving the deep emerald curtains blowing ethereally in the breeze. Morgana stumbled out onto the rain slick balcony to see her son's silhouette vanish into the trees below.

"MORDRED!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, half-pleading, half accusing and her eyes lit up with a rush of unfocused magic. The pitcher on the nightstand behind her exploded and several nearby windows erupted out of their frames.

Down in the shadowed forest below, Mordred skidded to a stop as the rain rushed horizontally past him in conjunction with Morgana's scream, almost knocking him off his feet. He turned to look back toward the tower with a hint of regret in his eyes. The moment passed and he continued to flee, not allowing himself to look back another time. He couldn't afford uncertainty. Not anymore.

* * *

Some distance away, in Camelot's palace, Arthur put down the reports that he was reading and picked up the section of torn-out diary entries that he'd found in a hidden compartment of Uther's desk. Merlin came into the room carrying his breakfast and the King quickly hid the entries under a stack of papers. Merlin frowned at him.

"It's morning, Arthur," he stated the obvious.

"I can see that, Merlin. I had work to do. Just set that tray down there." Arthur cleared a place at the corner of his desk, returning to the report he'd been looking at before his manservant entered.

"These aren't the usual reports..." Merlin observed. "You're searching for someone."

"Give me that!"

Merlin stepped out of Arthur's reach and studied the page in his hand. "A young boy, fifteen years of age, possibly bearing Druid clan markings... 'Possibly'? You don't even know whether he's a Druid or not? What did this boy do?"

" _Mer_ lin. _"_ Arthur stalked around the table and snatched the page away from his troublesome servant. "This doesn't concern you."

"It's kept you up all night -on two separate occassions, I might add. It's clearly important."

"It's personal."

"Now I'm _really_ curious."

Arthur scowled at him. It had no effect. "There was something that I found in my father's desk after he died. He kept it hidden from me, and now I'm looking into it. That's all."

"And what does this have to do with a possible Druid?"

"Don't be stupid Merlin, of course he's a Druid."

"This doesn't have anything to do with magic, does it?" Merlin probed.

Arthur scowled again. "No..."

"So a Druid just happens to be related to this unspecified secret something in Uther's desk in some way that you're not sharing."

"He is _definitely_ related," Arthur confirmed in an oddly flippant tone.

"You aren't even going to try to help me understand what this is about, are you?" Merlin noted.

Arthur smiled at him. "See, Merlin? You are learning!"

Merlin let out a huff and headed out of the room. Arthur watched him go, then looked back at his desk. He had spent over a year on his search for answers and still he felt he was no closer to finding the hidden child than when he had begun. Those entries that his father had so callously torn out of Morgana's diary were heartbreaking. The thought of her lost baby and what fate may have befallen him haunted Arthur, almost as much as it must have haunted his wayward sister. And yes, it most definitely kept Arthur up at night. Uther had undoubtedly done what he felt he had to in order to protect her, and their family's reputation. Still, after learning of it, Arthur understood his sister's rage a bit better. He only hoped that he could still find the boy before he was lost forever. No matter what Uther had thought, both child and mother deserved better than this.

 **...Two years ago Mordred turned sixteen years old. He even found a less demeaning way to earn his living just in time to be captured by slavers. (Mordred decided to fuck fate the way that it had fucked him)**

Mordred strolled into the local tavern. It was what he had estimated would be a safe enough distance away from his recent haunts, and the clientele appeared to be of a less problematic variety. This was the closest that Mordred ever let himself get to Arthur, but it had to be done, at least for tonight. He had been grabbed off of the street two days ago and taken to meet a representative of some neighboring Lord. This man, Lord Rhidian, according to his proxy's thoughts, had been watching Mordred for sometime and wanted him to use his talents to essentially commit treason by proxy. Naturally, Mordred refused. The whole reason why he was subjecting himself to this abysmal life was in order to avoid doing harm to Camelot's King and Court. This Lord clearly wasn't one to take disapointment kindly, so here Mordred was, hiding out on the border for a couple weeks while he saved enough money to go into seclusion for good. _It's only one more night, anyone who knows you from Camelot is far away, at the palace. What are the chances that this could fall apart now_?

"Well, look at this! Pretty Boy!" a drunken rasp remarked.

Mordred leaned on his elbows against the bar to wait for the bartender, ignoring his past customer as best he could. He honestly couldn't remember this man. He was pretty run of the mill in terms of Mordred's previous livelihood. A middle-aged, rough-looking wretch, surrounded by a mostly intangible aura of filth. Mordred had decided that he was fed up with that lifestyle-if one could even call it that- for a good reason. However he _did_ remember well enough, disliking a wannabe-repeat customer who'd insisted upon constantly calling him 'Pretty Boy' or... _What_ _was_ _the_ _other_ _one_ _again_?

"Come off it, Babyface... I'd know that pout o' yours anywhere!" The larger man planted himself in the space directly to Mordred's left, leaning against the counter so that he could more-or-less force Mordred to look at his face. His ample stomach grazed the Druid's arm as he moved. Mordred resisted the urge to cower away from the warping, flickering cloud surrounding the man that Mordred knew only he could percieve.

"I am not interested," Mordred denied, doing his best to pay the obnoxious creep as little attention as possible. He had learned the hard way that if you let one of the clouded people into your consciousness, the murky haze will begin to feed, or worse latch on.

"What are you afraid of? I've got money to spare for tonight. We'll have supper!" the man insisted, draping an arm around Mordred's shoulders. Mordred eyed the invading limb with a disdainful air then looked up at its too persistent owner, resolutely ignoring the slippery, flickering feelers that were dancing over his skin searching for purchase. Once their eyes met, the flow of _Arlan's_ immediate thoughts leaked into Mordred's awareness before he could slam his mental defenses shut, making the wretch's intentions clear. This wasn't about a job. Arlan was a thug for hire when he wasn't orchestrating thefts. He also had certain unmentionable proclivities. Arlan was preying on Mordred tonight, and he didn't plan to let him live to tell the tale.

Mordred gave him a tight smile. "Another time perhaps, I have to get home soon. This was only meant to be a brief respite." He told the tavern keeper "A pint of ale, please," and slipped him one of the handful of gold pieces that he'd pilfered from Arlan's over-filled coinpurse.

"Yes, right. Don't make me laugh, Pretty Boy. You're an orphaned brat, plain as day. Now let's get back to my table so we can talk buisness."

Mordred looked around, trying to figure out whether he'd have even the slightest chance of getting away with a subtle use of magic in the crowded place. Before he could begin to worry too much an unfamiliar voice cut through his thoughts.

"Oi! What are you trying with my nephew? You like little boys?"

Mordred's head snapped around to face the newcomer. "What? I-"

"Who's this?" Arlan demanded.

"Who am I, Mate? Who are _you?"_ Mordred's rescuer shot back, stepping into Arlan's personal space.

"Uncle Rona, I..." Mordred pretended to falter as though he were formulating an excuse.

The new man took his arm and pulled him away from the baffled thug. "If your mother were alive to see the trouble you put us through... This had better not be why you've been vanishing at all hours!" 'Uncle Rona' warned, leading him away into the far corner of the tavern. They stopped just short of the door and pulled apart to slip into either side of a reserved booth.

"Thank you. I was beginning to think that I would never be rid of him," Mordred said graciously.

"You can pay me back with those coins you lifted off the fat idiot," his rescuer responded.

"You saw that?"

"I won't tell if I don't need to."

Mordred sighed and placed his pilfered money on the tabletop between them. The other man smiled.

"What's your name, Boy?"

"Mordred. And yours?"

"Ragnor." Ragnor tried to take the gold, but Mordred placed a hand over his larger one, locking eyes with this new challenger.

"I still need tonight's supper." He took back two of the coins without breaking eye-contact. Ragnor smirked.

"I knew you'd be tough. This isn't an easy place for Druids to find their way," Ragnor discussed. "Especially on their own."

"If you believe the fat idiot's reckoning," Mordred deflected without giving anything away. Young or not, he wasn't born yesterday. It was obvious that 'Ragnor' was summing him up, probing to see how vulnerable Mordred might be.

"It's a bit late for you to be out dining alone."

"I'm not alone. You're here."

"Your people will be missing you. You look too clean and fed to have nobody lookin' after you," Ragnor assessed.

"She knows not to hold her breath."

"Ah, so you've got an aunt then," Ragnor inferred.

Mordred watched him impassively, not giving him anything more to go on.

"I loved my aunt. She was rough, like you," Ragnor continued, amiably.

Mordred looked down at himself, not seeing how he could be described as rough. Granted, his tunic and black, wool cloak had seen better days, but he was perfectly aware of his babyfaced and gentle appearance.

Ragnor chuckled. "No. You don't look it, Mordred. You just are." He grabbed some coins and tossed them recklessly at a passing tray. "Two pints of ale, and some stew for the brat," he told the scowling barmaid, laughing inappropriately at his own bad behavior. That was what this man's obsession was, dominance. Mordred doubted that he had any genuine confidence within him, so he demeaned all comers, and competed on unlevel ground. That was fine; Mordred was willing to be underestimated.

"You should respect her, your aunt," Ragnor clarified, misreading Mordred's skeptical expression.

"I never said that I didn't."

"Yeah, but you're here in a pub, trying to needle your way toward another drink." He laughed again at Mordred's defensive glare. "Well, come on! What age are you, twelve?"

"Your drinks, Gentlemen," the barmaid murmered politely, only half paying attention until the boy responded.

"I'm sixteen. It's my birthday," Mordred intoned. The barmaid setting the drinks down between them did a double-take, and snorted out a chuckle.

"Oh yeah? Me too, Luv," she joked, brushing her long grey hair out of her face with a gaptoothed grin.

Mordred watched Ragnor expectantly as the maid left. Sure enough, the older man slid Mordred's drink closer to him with an amused smirk.

"Congratulations, Lad!" Ragnor held up his tankard in a lazy toast. "You've survived another year. Happy Beltane!" He called out the last, inappropriate exclamation loud enough to draw the unfriendly gazes of other patrons.

The Druid pulled at the untied opening of his tunic to reassure himself that his tattoo was well shielded from view. Ragnor smiled at the self-conscious movement. Just as Mordred had thought. It all came down to dominance.

* * *

Arthur strode more swiftly than was probably advisable out of the Council Chambers. He was sick of the judgmental, or worse- _pitying_ looks that some of the older members were sending his way. He knew that some of his father's advisers were beginning to whisper behind his back. That meant that there were doubtlessly more he didn't know who were doing it. More than two years into his reign the Council had expected him to produce an heir. Well, too bad. To be honest, Arthur had, too. He and Gwen had been trying. His beautiful Queen wanted a child to love and nurture even more than Arthur needed an heir to secure his hold on the throne. Worse yet, there were whispers that he had inherited his father's curse. The young King was almost tempted to acknowledge the old men's gossip just to point out that his father had actually suffered no such curse. After all, it was now common knowledge that Lady Morgana LeFay was, in fact, the King's older half-sister.

This was even worse. The Court Genealogist had decided to bring it up in the middle of the meeting. _Geoffrey_ of all people had betrayed Arthur to the wagging tongues of his father's old councilors. The man had been practically family since Arthur and Morgana's heads barely reached their father's elbows. _Not anymore, the traitor,_ Arthur thought peevishly.

"They're just boring old men, Arthur. You don't need to let them get to you," Merlin assured, jogging to catch up with his preoccupied friend. Arthur had hoped that he wasn't that easy to read.

"I'm not bothered. There are simply far more important uses for my time," Arthur dismissed.

"Yes." Merin nodded.

"I have a Kingdom to run and they want to talk about who is or isn't having a baby," Arthur sneered defensively.

"Right."

"Its none of their buisness!"

"Exactly," Merlin confirmed with a barely-concealed grin.

Arthur eyed him for a minute then nodded stiffly, realizing that he had pretty much restated his manservant's point.

Merlin let his grin free.

Arthur resumed his brisk pace towards his chambers. "Don't just stand there grinning like an idiot, Merlin. We both have work to do." Arthur's mind was already straying back to his secret project. Finding the Druid boy was becoming a necessity now with all the rumors running through his court. It was only a matter of time before one of Arthur's rivals heard a whisper and got the idea to challenge him, but if Arthur could put an eligible regent in place, it would shift the target off his back. At least for a while. He liked to think that might be enough time and stress relief even to solve the problem of his succession. Better yet, it finally looked as though he might have a lead to move on. A series of break-ins in a small village near Camelot's border with Caerleon shared reports of a dark-haired, Druid boy of variable age appearing suddenly and vanishing into the night near many of the burgled dwellings. What had really caught Arthur's attention was the one that mentioned the boy's Druid tattoo. It matched the sketch from one of Morgana's torn out diary entries, of her lover's clan marking.

* * *

Mordred stopped abruptly in the middle of the leaf-strewn road. It was still early morning and he had hoped to enjoy the peace and quiet of the sunrise while he walked. No such luck. He was being followed. He had sensed his pursuers for a while now, but the less familiar mind had drawn too close to ignore. Mordred's hands clenched into fists. He didn't want to hurt anyone -as a general rule- but two much larger attackers at once? He would have to use his magic.

"Who's there?" he called tensely. The young Druid knew perfectly well who was following him, and exactly where both men were positioned, but he was still hoping that he wouldn't have to fight. "I know someone's there; I heard you!"

A familiar laugh cracked the tense silence, Ragnor stepped out from behind a tree onto the path behind Mordred. "Alright, you've caught me!" he mocked. "What exactly were you planning to do to me if I wasn't so friendly? Last I checked, you Druids were a peaceful lot."

"Why are you following me?"

"I've been hearing some interesting stories regarding a Druid boy like you," Ragnor began, taking a step forward.

Mordred took a couple of steps back, guessing where this was headed. "Is that so?"

"Yes. You see, there has been a run of thefts through the villages here along the border," Ragnor continued, while Mordred subtly increased the distance between them. "Folks say they've seen a young Druid appear then dissappear nearby on the very night of the incident. Come to think of it, you really do match his description."

Mordred darted off like a shot in the other direction, with Ragnor keeping pace - admirably well - behind him. He was a much better runner than he looked. Mordred didn't intend to play fair this time anyway. He abandoned the path by vaulting over a toppled tree without bothering to hide his somewhat incriminating agility. Ragnor was no tumbler and his scramble over the formidable obstacle put a comfortable distance between them.

Mordred turned right past a large oak tree, charging deeper into the forest. He didn't even bother to look back, using his magic to track the two men chasing him. _Wait. Two?_ Mordred slid to a halt and looked back over his shoulder.

"You're making a mistake, Mordred!" Ragnor warned.

Mordred backed away from him, but stopped and began to turn towards the new threat sneaking up behind him. Arlan made to grab him, but he dropped into a somersault, running over to swing up into the branches of a nearby tree. Arlan grabbed his ankle right before Mordred could escape his reach and yanked him back down. Mordred kicked out at him and struggled, buying himself a few more seconds before he landed hard on his back on the forest floor. Arlan pulled him up off the ground in a cruel bearhug, pinning the squirming Druid's arms to his chest.

"You should have been smarter, Boy! Shown some respect. You turned down the wrong Lord's offer. Now I'll be earning my gold with your head," he growled into Mordred's ear.

"No! Let me go!" Mordred kicked with his dangling legs and slammed his head back into his attacker's collarbone. He was beginning to have trouble breathing in Arlan's crushing grip.

"A pretty thief is a terrible thing to waste. You would have been good fun." Arlan ignored his pleas. Mordred could barely breathe, and with blurring vision, he saw the cloudy tendrils ghosting over his skin in search of an opening. He doubted that he had long.

"I'm warning you..." he hissed out, not wanting to resort to magic even though he saw no other choice at that point.

Arlan laughed. A loud crack snapped through the air and he dropped Mordred to the forest floor with a startled gag. Mordred loooked back up at him to see a sturdy, leather whip wrapped around the thug's throat. Ragnor was holding it taught from a few paces behind while his victim choked.

"You're killing him," Mordred observed, still working to regain his own proper breathing.

"I have a job for you, Mordred. It could be very rewarding," Ragnor responded conversationally, watching the other man drop to his knees. His lips were turning blue. "You can't complete this last theft if you're dead."

"One last job and I'm done."

"We grab the goods, divide the reward, and part ways by noon tomorrow. Of course I'll be bound by good sense to keep you protected until I get my money," Ragnor clarified, holding out a hand to pull the wary teen to his feet. "We have an understanding?"

Mordred looked to the writhing, strangled killer crouched in front of him to the opportunist who was choking him to death. Mordred didn't trust this man in the least, however the alternative to agreeing was just as absolute. "We do," he accepted, allowing his new customer to pull him to his feet.

Ragnor smiled at him in acknowledgement, then retrieved his sword from his belt and slit Arlin's throat. Mordred turned his face sharply away. He was close enough to feel the sudden, tearing, emptiness of a life being cut short, and felt the warm spray of blood splattering onto the back of his hand.

"Now that's out of the way, let's talk business," Ragnor suggested, outwardly unaffected by his own ruthless act. Mordred didn't really want to know if he was or not. Either way, he wasn't someone that Mordred was going to stick with any longer than he had to.

Merlin paced back and forth behind Arthur's chair while they waited for Elyan and Leon to join them in the royal chambers. Gwen watched him from her seat at the table, on her husband's right with a sympathetic look. Arthur was still stubbornly ignoring him, unrepentant about keeping his best friend in the dark about this for so long. The Queen was the only one with whom Arthur had shared his discovery for the first year. After that they'd let Leon in on a heavily-edited version of the truth out of necessity, but not Merlin.

"Three years. Three years, and you didn't tell me! After all the time we've known each other, everything I've done for you... You couldn't trust me!" Merlin ranted frustratedly.

"You know that we trust you, Merlin. It wasn't that at all," Gwen assured him, leaning her elbows against the tabletop so that she could see her friend's face while he paced.

Merlin gave her a sarcastic look.

"Stop being such a girl, _Mer_ lin. It didn't concern you. Now sit down," Arthur told him without looking back. He hooked one foot under the chair across from Gwen and pushed it out for the grumpy young man, just as the two knights arrived. "Sir Leon, Sir Elyan, please join us."

"Sire," Leon acknowledged respectfully as they took their seats at the other end of the table. Elyan eyed the rebellious manservant standing to the left of Arthur's chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Is something troubling you, Sire?" Elyan inquired.

"Leon has told you about the series of thefts that were reported along our border with Caerleon?"

"Yes. Forgive me, Sire, but aren't such matters usually the domain of Camelot's patrols?" Elyan looked from Arthur to Gwen, sensing that there was something more going on.

"That would normally be the case," the Queen admitted. "Elyan, what we're about to tell you cannot leave this room. You must swear to that."

"You have our silence, your Magesty," Leon confirmed. Elyan nodded, keeping eye-contact with his sister.

"I swear."

"When King Uther died he passed a number of secret documents on to me. I have been piecing together what I can from the fragments I could find," Arthur explained, choosing his words carefully. "I don't believe that my father realized that he would need to share any of this with another person before it was finished, let alone pass it on... As Sir Leon already knows, I have been searching for a Druid spoken of in these documents. A young boy, about sixteen years of age with a triskelle on his chest. What I haven't told you, until now is that I believe this boy to be Morgana's illegitimate child. He was left hidden amongst the Druids in order to disguise her indiscretion."

Arthur paused to gauge the reactions of his trusted knights. They looked stunned, which wasn't unexpected. Neither of them seemed upset so far, but it was hard to tell. He exchanged a glance with Guinevere, she slipped her hand into his and laced their fingers together in silent encouragement. They were both agreed that this needed to be done.

"A boy of his description has been seen around the villages where the thefts took place," Arthur continued as though he'd never faltered. "I want you to capture him and do what you can to confirm his identity. If he is Morgana's son, I intend to bring him home."

"Sire," Leon was the quicker of the two to snap out of his shocked silence. "If he truly is Morgana's child, surely the witch will be searching for him as well. She will likely have heard the same reports that we have by now."

"That's why we need to get to him first." Merlin piped up at last, resting a hand on the back of Arthur's chair. "Before she can turn him against us."

The royal couple looked up at him surprised. He ignored it. He still wasn't happy with either of them for keeping him in the dark, but he wasn't angry enough to let the boy suffer. Morgana might be his mother, but she was also mad, and destructive. It would be better for all involved, to keep the boy safe in Camelot.

* * *

This place wasn't exactly the usual sort of target for Mordred. It was an outpost for Camelot's border patrol. A sturdy, three-floored stone block of a structure shaped like a backwards capital L. The locked chest which Ragnor wanted him to steal was kept on the top floor. To make things worse they'd seen a couple of Arthur's knights snooping around the village in search of someone that evening. Ragnor had assured him that it was unrelated. Ragnor was lying. Mordred hated his own policy of not asking what he was hired to steal.

"Just one more job," he reminded himself, fastening the veil of his dark blue headscarf over his lower face. Every bit of him was covered now in layers of dark blue or black cloth, except for his pale blue eyes. It was near midnight. Most of the patrolmen would be asleep at this hour as would their guests, with any luck. Mordred looked up at the full moon overhead and climbed up the old hazelnut tree beside the first level. His power was nearing a peak now. He would need to be cautious of his emotions. No need to risk an outburst with Knights around to see it.

Mordred easily swung up onto the first roof and flattened himself against the stones. The first guard strolled closer. Mordred slipped a wooden pipe out of his tunic and blew a dart into the guard's neck. With a hand to his sore puncture wound, the man dropped like a sandbag. Mordred padded silently over him, retrieving the dart as he went, and began to scale the tower. He was hanging from the windowsill, about to pull himself inside when the second guard arrived. Beautiful, he was early.

"Dave?" The guard shook his buddy by the shoulder. "Oi, Dave! Wake up, Mate."

 _Oh, good. This one's a bit dim,_ Mordred thought to himself, relieved. He pulled himself up and hooked one leg over the sill then stilled. He'd knocked over an empty goblet someone had left on the adjacent table.

"What's that?" He heard the guard wonder to himself, looking around no doubt. Mordred squeezed his eyes shut and waited. The guard didn't notice him. After a quick look back to verify that he hadn't been spotted, Mordred pulled himself up to straddle the windowsill.

He whistled to the still-conscious guard, retrieving the pipe.

"Oi!" The guard drew his sword and started towards him. Mordred got him with a dart just above his collarbone. He only had one left now, but he was confident that he could manage. Mordred crept out of the watchroom into the torchlit hallway. _Two doors down on your right. It'll be locked._

There were no more guards in sight. In fact, the hall was silent as the dead until Mordred unlocked the door with a whisper of "Unlūcan." Mordred was already leaning over the now broken metal trunk, searching for the small, silver chest that Ragnor wanted, when footsteps alerted him to an aproaching guard. Mordred hastilly shifted a pile of fine red silk out of his way and shoved the box into his rucksack. He needed to hide.

It wasn't a guard entering. Sir Elyan drew his sword, pulled out of his sleepy daze by the cracked open door to the secure storage room. He entered catiously, scanning his surroundings for any sign of the intruder. Above him, Mordred held his breath keeping himself pressed to the corner of the ceiling. He was strong enough to stay up for another minute or two. The Druid silently thanked Morgana for all the physical drills and barely-disguised 'survival games' that she had played with him during the year they lived together. He wouldn't have been able to hide like this if she hadn't been so good at finding him. The pipe that he'd been using to shoot darts began to slip out of the folds of his tunic. He watched, helpless, while the knight searched farther into the room. Mordred gauged the man's distance, and the progression of the pipe as it slipped, playing the odds. It fell away. Mordred dropped to the floor in a whisper of rustling fabric, catching the wooden implement before it could hit the stone floor. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room while Elyan whirled to face him.

"Stop right there!"

 _Does that ever work?_ Mordred wondered to himself.

Elyan charged out into the hall to stop the thief. Frowning when he had miraculously vanished. Mordred waited for the knight to step a little closer then darted out of the shadows, tackling his opponent up against the wall. Elyan's sword clattered to the floor while they struggled, so he headbutted his young attacker. Mordred stumbled back, drawing his last dart and tried to stab Elyan with it. The knight caught his wrist and wrenched it around. Mordred cried out in pain and punched him, once, then- Elyan caught his other arm and twisted him around so that he was pinned against the knight's chest.

"Listen, I don't want to hurt you! Surrender your weapon and no more harm will come to you," Elyan requested, holding on tightly to the squirming teenager.

Mordred paused to consider the assertion. ("More?")

"You will come to no harm once you're in our custody. We wish only to escort you back to Camelot," Elyan continued, encouraged by his opponent's relaxing shoulders. "I give my word as a Knight of the Roundtable."

Mordred squeezed his eyes shut regretfully in response to the last two statements, replying, "I believe you," before he stamped his heel down on Elyan's foot and threw his head back against his would-be-chaperone's, forcing him to release his hold.

Elyan caught himself against the wall, readying to lunge forward and tackle him. Mordred spun round and stabbed his last dart into the knight's neck.

"I am genuinely sorry about this." Mordred caught his opponent, slowly lowering him to the ground while he lost his struggle against Mordred's drugged and enchanted darts. "You'll be fine, I promise." He added to the unconscious warrior, then hurried out of the watchtower.

When he was just standing up after his drop from the old tree, Mordred felt the tip of a sword press between his shoulder blades. He let out a heavy sigh, slowly lifting his gloved hands.

"Stay where you are," Sir Leon instructed.

Mordred remained silent.

"You're the Druid boy who's responsible for all those break-ins, aren't you?"

Mordred shot a look over his shoulder.

"Fair enough," Leon conceded. "Hand over the rucksack. Slowly."

Mordred let his bag slip off his shoulder until it rested on the moist soil beside him. Instead of passing it back to Leon, however, he grabbed the straps and swung it up to hit Leon in the shoulder. The blow knocked the knight off-balance, and Mordred finished the job by sweeping his leg out and toppling the taller man. Mordred didn't hesitate to flee into the village streets with Sir Leon following hot on his tail. The Druid jumped up onto a passing cart and ran across the bales of hay, leaping right off them to catch the edge of a nearby awning and run along the wooden frame. He had just reached the end and was about to jump across onto the roof of the next building when a shortsword flew past cutting the strap of his bag, and the flesh of his arm.

"Ah," Mordred hissed in pain and pressed a hand over the gash, watching his rucksack fall into the street below. He looked back in the direction the weapon had come from to meet Sir Leon's determined gaze. They both darted for the bag. Leon reached it first. Mordred skidded to halt a few paces away, looking torn.

"Don't-" Leon began, breaking off when the thief, predictably, fled. "...run," he finished, giving chase. It was pointless. Mordred was smaller, younger, unfairly agile and his dark clothing was making him very hard to see in the twilit night. He also never stopped moving, which Leon was fairly certain would have been this enraging even in broad daylight. The most experienced Roundtable member suddenly felt rather old. After a couple more minutes of relentless ducking, bobbing and leaping, Mordred had realized his opportunity. He was running across the top of a six foot high stone wall that separated the village from the border propper, and the knight chasing him- whose aggravation would have been obvious even without Mordred's clairvoyance- was running alongside it several paces behind.

Mordred stopped and turned to wave at him. The Knight slid to a halt, perplexed. The young thief swept one arm out and bowed like a jester at the end of his performance. He then did a back flip off of his perch, vanishing into the shadows on the other side of the wall. He probably shouldn't have taunted the man like that, but Mordred was fed up, tired, and likely to be murdered by an unhappy client come morning, so he didn't care.

The next morning he would wake up in a cage without any memory of what had happened after he'd evaded Camelot's knights except for a vague recollection of a bitter smelling cloth pressed over his face. Ragnor had decided to keep him rather than sell him... or kill him.

"I like you, Mordred. You're clever, but not too clever. I could use someone like you, for amusement if nothing else, so I will."

Mordred could see the lie in the other man's smile. Arthur's knights were searching for him - _Goddess knows why._ The Druid would cooperate with his new captor until Ragnor brought him far enough away not to tempt fate any further. He knew that he should never have dared to venture this close to Camelot in the first place.

 **Present Day. Mordred is seventeen years old, and today his luck is changing...**

A familiar rustling clamor issued from the other side of the clearing behind him. Mordred cocked his head to one side, considering the sound. The shouting, understandably indignant voices of Ragnor's fresh catch sounded familiar. Mordred picked his own catch up off of the forest floor, letting the dead bird dangle lifelessly from his hands as he turned towards the disturbance. He wasn't in any hurry to see which poor sods were about to join him in the life of a human commodity, but the sudden cry of "Merlin!" in that recognizable male voice chased all thoughts of dawdling from his mind. _Arthur_. Mordred's blood turned to ice in his veins. For a moment, he couldn't move or breathe. His mind raced. Arthur was the one hero of his past life who he'd never dared imagine might come to his rescue. The subject of his horrible destiny. It seemed that there would be no avoiding him now. Mordred snapped himself out of his panicked stupor and bolted back towards the clearing, just managing to slow to a purposeful walk and set their future meal aside along with the crossbow when he reached the edge of the trees.

The bickering pair picked themselves up off of the cut netting, seemingly oblivious to their dire predicament while Ragnor appraised them. Merlin was being too bold in his protection of the King, and paid for it with a blow taken in the gut. Arthur snapped to his defense, trying to bargain for his 'idiot servant's' freedom. The slavers laughed as he was given a swift kick in the ribs for his troubles. The slavemaster's blade poked at the King's throat, keeping him from pushing himself up off the grass.

"Stop!" Mordred barked. It came out as an order, despite his own tenuous position. Mordred hastily schooled his features to hide his emotions when the other men all snapped their heads round to stare at him. Mordred wasn't sure which was worse: the way that Emrys was looking at him as if he was his worst nightmare made flesh, or the way that Ragnor's beady eyes were scrutinizing his expression in that discerning way. Their gazes locked. The slavemaster leered at him, having seen the flicker of anxiety-tainted rage in the Druid's eyes. _That_ was worse. Mordred shifted his attention back to Emrys, not thinking about why Ragnor was letting his willful display pass; distrust was something that Mordred had long grown accustomed to. Being so easily read and manipulated was unacceptable. "Shouldn't we leave it to Lady Morgana to decide their fate?"

The slavemaster broke into a full-bellied laugh, still too amused by Mordred's reaction and walked away, waving with one hand for the teenager to ready the new catch for transport. Mordred offered Arthur a hand up and the King eyed it skeptically before accepting his help. He was trying to remember where he'd seen those eyes before, and why this not-quite-stranger was behaving this way.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Mordred asked, although he already knew the answer. "You saved my life once."

"Mordred," Merlin realized aloud.

Mordred smiled at the older mage despite the almost shocked expression in his eyes. He smiled at Arthur, too, greeting him warmly, "Hello, Arthur." His unreadable mask snapped back into place in the next instant. "It is a shame that we weren't reunited under better circumstances. I have to chain you up now."

"You could let us go," Merlin countered, flatly.

"Do you know what these men do when their property decides to misbehave?"

Merlin blinked at him, genuinely thrown. "What?"

"I am unchained, only because Ragnor knows that I am not stupid enough to attempt escape again." With that, Mordred led Arthur over to the horses and fetched their shackles. He could feel it when the king spotted the scar at the base of his neck. A shallow stab-wound placed to one side of his spine, just nasty enough to scare a young boy into lasting submission without killing or permanently paralyzing him. He could hear the royal thinking to himself, _How many other scars like that are still hidden away?_

Mordred turned back around to shackle him, readjusting his neckerchief to cover the mark. Arthur averted his gaze when he looked up, and wordlessly offered his wrists, not wanting to be responsible for another wound like that. Of course, he was too honorable. That was why Mordred had let him see it. Emrys narrowed his eyes at the royal's behavior, but remained silent. He was less pleasant when it came time to shackle him, but he followed Arthur's lead, regardless. This apparent grudge of his was going to be a problem. It was definitely something that Mordred would need to navigate carefully. Still, this could turn out to be a boon for all three of them if Mordred played it right. The trick would be getting them all to Morgana in one piece. She wouldn't take his enslavement too kindly, and would want to savor her revenge against Arthur, giving them all the time that Mordred needed. (He turns away from the others, allowing himself a small smirk. "And it isn't even my birthday.")

- **(Destiny was going to be Mordred's bitch.)**

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading this. I hope you enjoyed it. Please review.


	2. The Prophecy and the Bastard

**Episode 1: The Prophecy and the Bastard**

 _"Concerning non-violence: It is criminal to teach a man not to defend himself when he is the constant victim of brutal attacks."_

 _\- Malcom X_

Chapter 1: Maternal Instinct

Morgana slept fitfully that night, haunted by visions of a deep pit. She was chained to the grimy, stone wall, accompanied by her loyal dragon.

"Aithusa!" She coaxed the young dragon closer as soon as she woke, soothing them both with promises of victory. She wasn't going to let Arthur's Bane slip through her grasp again. They would find the Diamere, and secure Camelot's throne once and for all.

"We have to think of a way to get out of here," Merlin whispered yet again, more loudly than was strictly advisable. They were trudging through the snowy mountains, chained to the back of the slavers' wagon and Arthur was trying to think. It was just difficult to formulate a suitable plan when he was surrounded by distractions. "We can't let them take us to Ismere."

"Shut up, Merlin. It's your stomach that got us into this mess," Arthur pointed out.

"I told you we should have gone back to Camelot," Merlin defended.

"And I told you to turn back."

"It's not me that I'm worried about, Arthur! Morgana will kill you!"

Ragnor called a halt, angrily jumping down from his horse to round the cart. Mordred had turned back to watch, and although Arthur still hadn't quite got a handle on the boy's strictly-controlled facial expressions, his eyes usually gave him away. He looked irritated by Merlin's disruption. Well, Arthur could sympathize, but there was something else to it that almost looked like... concern?

"Oi!" Ragnor struck Merlin upside the head with his canteen before laying a heavy-handed blow into Arthur's side. "You speak when you're spoken to!" He waited for a second to see his point set in, then tromped back up to the front and resumed riding. When Arthur looked back up to the front Mordred had already turned away to stare straight ahead at the snowy road. Arthur wondered what would happen to the boy when they escaped. He had revealed his connection to them to the slavemaster when he stood up for them. It was obvious that he was otherwise obedient. However... Arthur shook the thought from his head. There would be little opportunity for both Merlin and himself to break free, let alone the young slave. He needed to be realistic.

* * *

Morgana left her cold, empty throne room and climbed the north tower. Aithusa was curled up napping by the window, so she cuddled with the sleepy reptile while gazing out at the courtyard below. Ruadan had reported his daughter's capture to her that afternoon. She had tried not to let it stir her own bitter memories while assuring him that the girl's sacrifice would not be in vain.

There was nothing that he could do. The girl was obviously bait in a trap. Morgana was no fool. She knew her friends-become-foes well. Despite her advice, the Priestess was almost as certain that Ruadan would ignore her council and walk into that trap. Ruadan's loss would be a shame, but Morgana had come to accept that people were unreliable. _People lie; they betray; they allow traitors' mind games to chase them away from their ki-_

Morgana caught herself. She had let herself become distracted by M- his loss again. That would do her no favours. She closed her eyes and buried the pain deep down inside. It was just more fuel for her vengeance now. Arthur and his father had taken everything from her, whether it was her birthright, her freedom, or the one person in this world who would always be hers. _I will have my vengeance,_ she reaffirmed. That was Morgana's purpose now: to make them pay. For Morgause, for Ruadan and his daughter, for Mordred and all of the countless others lost under the Pendragons' cruel tyranny.

* * *

"What are _you_ looking at?" Ragnor called to Merlin. The warlock was still chained to the back of the wagon like all the of the other slaves, save Mordred. Despite the late hour Merlin was still wide awake. He sat watching their captors eat by the fire while Arthur slept by his legs.

"Is it this?" Ragnor held up a loaf of bread that had been warming by the fire. "Here, catch!" He tossed it so that it fell short of Merlin's reach, rolling onto its side on the icy ground. He broke into a cruel laugh, amused by his own antics while Merlin glared.

"Perhaps you should feed them," Mordred suggested. "They'll be nothing but skin and bones by the time that we reach Ismere."

"Morgana wants slaves, not fat hogs for the fire," Ragnor corrected. "Eat your own supper now and be glad that I bother with you at all."

Mordred looked down at his own lump of stale bread. It was all that he ever got most nights despite all of the hunting that he did for Ragnor and his men. It wouldn't do to waste it. He dutifully finished his 'supper' before trying another tack. "Slow the pace at least? We don't want them collapsing before we reach Morgana."

Ragnor's rough, beefy hand clamped down around the back of his slave's neck as an unspoken reminder of who was in charge. "The sooner I get to Ismere, the sooner I get paid." He leaned closer to speak directly into Mordred's ear, "There is no 'we'. Don't you go forgetting that."

"Yes, Ragnor," Mordred submitted, keeping his eyes locked on the ground until the grip on his nape released.

"Get to sleep," Ragnor dismissed, acting as though his command were already being followed. He thought he had enough control to know that it always would be, that he had broken Mordred. That was exactly what Mordred intended him to think.

* * *

A lone black silhouette sat slumped in the snow. As Morgana stepped closer, she noticed the red border of blood staining the ground between them. The silhouette was a teenage boy curled in on himself, his dark locks falling into his face while he stared down at his hands. The chainmail that he wore under his cloak was splattered all over with blood, as was one side of his achingly-familiar face. She ran towards him but her progress was unnaturally slow. Morgana saw his hands now that she was closer. They were dripping with blood and she prayed, against all reason, that it wasn't his. She dropped to her knees in front of him as his scarlet-stained lips curved into a sad smile and his haunting, crystal-blue eyes looked up to meet hers.

"Mother?"

Morgana jerked awake, screaming, "Mordred!" For a brief moment she didn't know where she was, looking desperately about for any sign of her lost child. Then she remembered. He was long gone. All the spies she had sent out in search of him had found only vague hints and traces, then nothing at all. They had all concluded that he was most likely dead, and with a heavy heart Morgana had moved on. "Mordred," she sobbed, letting a little hope seep back into her heart. They were wrong. That was no ordinary nightmare that Morgana had just experienced. She was a Seer and a High Priestess of the Old Religion. She knew an omen when she saw one. Mordred was alive, and she was going to keep him that way.

* * *

Early the next morning, Mordred made sure to wake up ahead of most of the others. As he'd predicted, Emrys still sat next to Arthur, wide awake with his legs pulled up against his chest. He was half frozen to death, and still in chains. That didn't dissuade him from his stern vigil, guarding the King from who knows what. From Mordred, if his distrustful looks were anything to go by. It made the Druid wonder: d _oes Emrys know of my curse?_ It was certainly possible. Mordred walked over to him, taking care not to disturb those sleeping around them and knelt before the half-frozen legend.

He revealed the lumps of bread that he had pilfered earlier and hidden underneath his furs while the others were distracted. "Do you want them?"

"Why are you doing this?" Merlin replied. It sounded as though his face was going numb. Mordred fleetingly battled the urge to grab the other man's neckerchief and cover his lower face with it; that would be rude.

"He once saved my life," Mordred said, looking at the slumbering King beside them. "I owe him a debt. Don't be so quick to judge me." Their eyes met. Mordred could feel himself being assessed by the far more powerful being facing him. He continued nonetheless, "You fear me, Emrys, don't you? I know the hatred and suspicion with which men treat those with magic. You and I are not so different. I, too, have learned to hide my gifts." He set the bread down beside Emrys, adding, "I promise: your secret is safe with me," before standing and walking away on silent feet.

"What is Morgana searching for in Ismere?" Emrys inquired, stopping him in his tracks.

"The Diamere," Mordred answered, turning to watch the older man without revealing any hint of the joy he felt from this small victory.

"The Diamere?"

"In the language of my people-" Mordred stopped short. They both looked down to watch Arthur stir in his sleep.

Emrys returned his expectant stare to the Druid once it was clear that Arthur wasn't waking up.

"It means 'the key'."

"The key to what?" Merlin prompted, studying the younger magic user speculatively.

"The key to all knowledge," Mordred provided, turning away to resume his expected position beside Ragnor's sleeping area. Merlin considered the lumps of bread. He was silently arguing with himself over whether or not to accept it.

(As he leaves, Mordred confides "Food is a basic need. Magical or not, Man is a social beast. The kind of trust that I can count on is forged by mutually beneficial exhanges. Emrys needs food for his King, to get it, he needs an ally who will provide it." He looks back to see Merlin cautiously tear a piece of bread off and taste it before waking Arthur in order to share the rest. Mordred faces forward again with a conspiratorial look.)

* * *

Later that same day, Mordred paced forward, letting his senses numb to his surroundings while the procession marched forward through the icy chill. They had been walking for hours and he had fallen into a light trance, anchoring himself on the steady hum of Arthur's mind behind him and the brilliant shining star beside it that was Emrys' core. That was why it was somewhat puzzling when Emrys' fearful shout broke through the monotonous drum of hooves and boots over snow.

"Stop! Wait!"

Mordred turned back to look with a subtle crinkle of his brow. As far as his magic was telling him, they were both perfectly fine. Ragnor jumped off his horse and stormed over to investigate. Sure enough, Arthur was slumped face-down on the ground, having collapsed there in 'exhaustion'. _Oh_. Mordred didn't let on, deciding to sit back and watch so long as they didn't need his help.

"He needs water," Merlin urged the slavemaster.

Ragnor dragged Arthur up off the ground and held his head in a vise grip. "Not so much the great warrior now, are you?" he mocked with a bitter chuckle, and shoved the King away.

Merlin caught the stumbling blond before he hit the ground. "I'll help him," he assured Ragnor. The idiot strutted happily back towards his horse, unaware that his knife was now in Arthur's hands. Mordred couldn't help feeling a bit insulted by that. Ragnor had always been more observant where he was concerned. That had been a cheap trick, and yet it blew right past him.

A loud crash brought the procession to an abrupt halt and Ragnor angrily rode to the back end of the wagon, demanding answers.

"What is this!" He dropped down off his horse. "Who did this! Tell me now or you'll all pay!"

Arthur jerked his head towards Merlin.

"We need to rest!" Merlin insisted.

At the other end of the procession, Mordred braced himself. This was it.

"Oh you can rest!" Ragnor threatened, drawing his sword. "You'll rest forever!"

Arthur darted forward and punched the slavemaster in the gut with both unbound hands. The locks on his chains had already been picked in preparation for the break, as had Merlin's. He then spun round and threw his stolen knife into the nearest guard's throat. Merlin's eyes flashed gold while Arthur's back was turned, directing the other guard's horse to rear up and shed it's flailing rider. Arthur turned back to grab a handful of Merlin's shirt and they darted around the nearest ridge.

"After them! Stop them!" the slavemaster yelled. Mordred was already running past him, pretending that he was obeying the furious slaver's direction.

When he rounded the ridge, Mordred saw Merlin trying to widen a chasm separating them from their pursuers with a fallen slaver's battle axe. Arthur was crouched behind him on the other side of a snowdrift, using his own stolen crossbow to cover his servant. The first of the two slavers jumped the gap only to be shot down once he'd reached the other side. Merlin threw more force into the next strike of the axe.

"Merlin! Wait," Arthur called out, having seen Mordred. Unfortunately, Merlin had magically fortified his last strike and the ice broke off. Mordred and Merlin's eyes locked as the great chunk of glacier went tumbling down into the deep crevice between them. It hadn't been a mistake.

Mordred skidded to a halt just in time and the last of the pursuing slavers grabbed him by the back of his neckerchief, simultaneously anchoring him and choking him. Merlin fliched in sympathy, despite himself. Arthur aimed the crossbow at the brute while Merlin ran away and slid over the top of the trench to join him. Mordred caught Arthur's eye, giving the slightest shake of his head. His plans of getting them all out of this in Ismere were out the window. Now he had to focus on damage control. Arthur could not appear to be helping him.

"Come along, Boy," the slaver ground out. "Let's get you back where you belong."

On the other side of the chasm, Merlin snapped at Arthur, "You should have shot him!"

"It wouldn't have done any good. Mordred already looks guilty enough, thanks to us," Arthur disagreed.

"Should have shot him, too," Merlin muttered to himself but Arthur heard it anyway.

"What is wrong with you?!"

"He was leading us to our deaths!"

"I don't see it that way. Why are you being like this? It isn't like you to be so... bloodthirsty," Arthur interrogated, rising to his feet. "Come on, we need to keep moving."

"I didn't see any chains on him! Did you?" Merlin argued, following after him.

"You know what they say, Merlin: appearances can be deceiving."

"Not in this case."

Arthur shook his head, letting the issue drop for now. His manservant's uncharacteristic aggression was worrying, but he figured that it must just be the stress of their situation bringing out the worst in him.

* * *

Morgana looked up, drawn out of her meditative trance by the caw of a raven. The bird was perched on her windowsill with a scrap of parchment tied to its leg. She walked over and untied its burden, unraveling it to read the message inside. Ruaden had gone against her advice, as she'd expected.

 _Morgana,_

 _I bring bad tidings. Arthur did not return to Camelot, but continues on to Ismere. You must not despair, Morgana. Soon you will have the Diamere, and Arthur's Bane will be in your grasp. Soon, the Pendragon's reign will come to an end._

There was blood smeared on the bottom of the hastily scribbled note by Ruadan's bloody hand. She wouldn't be seeing her old Druid advisor again. Not in this life.

* * *

Merlin and Arthur crept up to the edge of the hill and watched the procession passing by on their way to Morgana's imposing block of a fortress. Mordred was limping now. He had been demoted to their place behind the cart. It was hard to tell whether he was bound or not. He looked up and for an instant, Arthur could have sworn that the boy was looking straight at him. It was impossible. At least, he thought it was. Mordred looked away, giving no indication that he'd seen anything of note.

"We are never going to get in there," Merlin complained, regarding Morgana's fortress.

"You are so negative today, _Mer_ lin. Of course there's a way," Arthur corrected, patting his shoulder.

...And that was how they ended up squeezed into the waste shoot, trying not to think about the stinking piles that they were climbing around or over.

"How did you talk me into this?" Merlin questioned, just before a bucketful of garbage showered over his head from the hole above.

"Genius, Merlin. Ughh," Arthur pressed a hand over his mouth to block out the rotting smell.

"Genius," Merlin hissed acidly.

"You've got a bit of um..." Arthur gestured to the top of his head. "Carrot in your hair." He considered it again. "At least, I hope it's carrot."

When they got inside the palace proper, Arthur immediately crossed over to the window to see the slavers arriving in the courtyard below. Merlin leaned into the open space on his left to see what he was looking at.

"Are you ready?" Arthur verified.

"For what?"

"Our carriage awaits," Arthur responded mysteriously, leaving Merlin staring after him while he continued on his unspecified plan. They ended up hiding in a mining trolley on its way beneath the fortress, and knocking a couple of Morgana's knights out in order to take their uniforms.

* * *

Morgana sat beside her window, watching the bustle of the moonlit courtyard. The slavers' loud, boastful conversation was floating around her mostly unheeded. The loudest one, who laughed far too harshly and too often for her tastes had been threatening one of his underlings before. Now he had moved on to boasting and mocking the others while he prepared his new shipment for display. There was something about the dark, limping figure upon whom he'd been venting his anger. Morgana frowned. For some unknown reason her magic was fixating on the young man's presence. He turned towards Morgana and for a moment, her heart stopped. She found herself running down the stairs before she had even realized that she'd moved, feeling like she was lost in a dream. _This had better not be a dream!_

She wrapped her furs around her as she descended in a rush, only to stop and stare just a few steps beyond the outer doorway. The slavemaster was hassling him again, prodding one big, beefy finger into the teenager's chest while he spoke. They both glanced over at her, and the slavemaster's face split in a greedy grin.

"My Lady, I am honored by this opportunity," he began his spiel, striding towards her. "I have brought you eight of my finest-"

Morgana turned a gaze on him similar to that used to regard a dead and rotting animal discovered across one's path. She pushed past him. He didn't matter. The only other person in her world who mattered in that moment was...

"Mordred," Morgana whispered, smiling dreamily up into her son's face.

Mordred began to smile back.

"I am terribly sorry, Milady, but this one's not for sale," Ragnor informed her, walking back towards them. The genuine smile vanished from Morgana's face as her jaw clenched in fury.

"What?" she spat.

Mordred tensed, seeing a spark of madness flash in the Priestess' eyes.

She slowly turned away from him to face Ragnor, leaving her hand resting on Mordred's shoulder all the while.

"That one's part of my personal collection. He's not worth much to be honest, but he's mine. I have better stock for you to choose from over this way. If you would just follow me," Ragnor offered.

"You _own_ him?" Morgana asked, in a barely restrained voice.

"For almost two years now. Caught him myself! Tell you what, I can see that you have your heart set on him, perhaps we could discuss a special pr-" Ragnor's hands reached up to grab pointlessly at the phantom hand cutting off his air supply. Morgana kept her fist raised, reveling in his pointless struggle.

"Morgana..." Mordred began, stepping up beside her. Morgana cupped his jaw with her free hand and tilted his head to inspect the scratches marring his chin and nose, taking note of the fresh bruise over his cheekbone.

"You beat him," she hissed out, turning furious, glowing eyes on Ragnor. His sheathed sword tore away from his belt and she caught it out of mid air, inspecting it with care. "With this?"

The slaver gurgled in the small amount of air her hold alowed him, unable to respond.

Morgana looked up at Mordred, following his hastily-aborted glance to a pile of wooden building supplies in the cart. She called the heavy, wooden hammer into her hand. It was the type used to drive stakes into the ground, and was flecked here and there with fresh blood. "With this," she concluded and struck Ragnor across the jaw with it, knocking several of his teeth out.

"Morgana! Please, you'll kill him," Mordred objected, catching her arm in a tight grip. He sheid away when she turned to look at him. The madness left her eyes the split second she'd noticed.

"You're right. I seem to have lost my temper," Morgana agreed in a much calmer tone almost sounding like when she used to coax him back to sleep after a nightmare. The feral harshness returned the moment she looked away, gesturing to Ragnor with the bloody hammer. "Gaurds! Take this man to the dungeons. I will deal with him in my own time." She rested a gentle hand on Mordred's arm, her expression softening once more.

"Now. Why don't you join me for supper?"

* * *

Percival spun round to face the newcomers in response to Arthur's firm tap on his shoulder. The shirtless knight relaxed immediately at the sight of their familiar faces.

"Sire. What are you two doing down here?" he whispered, relieved to see them.

"You didn't think we were just going to leave you here, did you?" Arthur replied. "Where're the others?"

"Um, scattered around," Percival nodded at the other clusters of slaves dispersed throughout the mine.

"And Gwaine?" Merlin prompted.

"I saw him a couple of days ago," Percival said uncertainly, glancing toward a junction of disused tunnels behind Merlin.

"Here," Arthur decided, pulling a stolen sword out of his belt, "see if you can use it to find some more."

"Arthur," Merlin cautioned, seeing some of Morgana's guards heading their way.

"Do what you can to free the others. We'll go after Gwaine," Arthur concluded.

Percival nodded and tucked the sword away in the top of his cart, pretending to continue his work while Merlin and Arthur slipped away toward the disused tunnels.

* * *

Morgana sat whittling runes into an apple at her end of the sturdy, oak dining table while she watched Mordred practically inhale his dinner. He was managing to maintain his table manners for the most part, but it was a close thing. The boy was obviously starving. Morgana waited for him to finish the meat on his plate and pause for a drink before she rose from her seat and walked round to Mordred's chair. The Druid waited, silently tracking her movements with wary eyes. He was clearly coiled in preparation to leap away at the first hint of danger. Morgana pushed his chair out with a measured gesture, allowing the mood of her magic to speak for itself. Then she knelt down beside him, brushing his bloody pant leg with the tips her fingers.

"Let me see."

"Oh. Thank you." Mordred relaxed and let her pull his injured limb into her lap so that she could begin healing him. They fell into an uncomfortable silence broken only by Morgana's barely-audible muttering in the Old Language. Mordred felt a tad guilty for mistrusting her. Morgana didn't owe him anything after the way he'd left.

"I feared you were dead," she told him, feeling proud that she had managed to keep the tremor out of her voice, for the most part.

Mordred set his goblet down and straightened to look at her.

"It's dangerous for those of us with magic," Morgana continued. "I had thought..." She swallowed, wrestling her expression back under control as she pulled his pantleg back down over the closing wound, and stood. "But you ran away."

"It has not been easy," Mordred conceded in a neutral tone, watching her return to her seat and clean her hands with a wet rag.

Morgana let out a derisive snort. "I could see that for myself. Despite whatever lies that traitor put into your head, I only ever wanted to protect you." She took up the knife and apple again, whittling patterns into the fruit.

"Morgana... I have learned for myself now the ways in which people like us are exploited. How we are feared... Sometimes even by our own-" Mordred stopped, closing his mouth and blinking rapidly as he reconsidered his words. "I know that you must be angry with me."

"No," Morgana reassured him. Her voice was suddenly gentle, caring. It reminded him of the kind young woman who had nursed him back to health all those years ago when he was just a scared little boy lost in Camelot. "That traitor manipulated you." And just like that, the old Morgana was gone again. "I should have killed him before he had the chance to poison your mind."

Mordred watched her with a carefully blank expression, not wanting to dissuade her from her mistake. He tried not to lie to people whom he cared about, crazy or not. That didn't mean that he would not allow them to deceive themselves.

"It is no matter. Attitudes will change soon, and the Old Religion will reign once more," Morgana assured him with a smile. It was her attempt to lighten the tension.

Mordred relaxed his shoulders, allowing a small smile to grace his features, which caused her smile to broaden in turn.

"There will be nothing more to fear once Arthur and his kind are cleansed from the Earth," she continued.

Mordred's smile faltered and he looked down at his plate. He could feel her contentment turning to confusion as she noticed.

"We had Arthur in our grasp." Mordred didn't know why he said it. When he looked up to meet the Priestess' intent stare, she had stopped toying with her apple. The knife in her hand was poised, nearly-forgotten, over the tender, red flesh. "He escaped," Mordred admitted.

Morgana placed her knife and apple on the table with a precise movement. "Who let him go?" Her voice was dangerously even.

"He got away," Mordred clarified, sensing the frigid flow of Morgana's much more powerful magic building and coiling in response to her failing temper.

"How? Who let him go?" she repeated coldly, sounding a hint more firm. Her pale green eyes locked onto his crystal blues, and he could feel the building pressure pool around him.

"It was an accident," Mordred replied, letting his voice sound timid in the midst of the witch's deadly ire.

"Kill him! That's all they had to do!" Morgana surged up out of her seat and knocked her plate and goblet aside. Her magic constricted around him in synchrony with her outburst, but it flowed over his skin as it moved without causig him any true harm. He merely felt as though he'd been squeezed a bit too hard by a great frosty cushion. Mordred did his best to recollect himself while Morgana dove into a murderous rant.

"I am a High Priestess of the Old Religion; I hold the power of the heavens in my hand- and yet he continues to defy me!" she raged, eyes wild.

"Lady Morgana..." Mordred tried to gently coax her back down to Earth.

"I want his annihilation, Mordred," she continued, unhearing.

Mordred swallowed down the painful lump in his throat. There was a familiar, crackling haze flickering in and out of existence around Morgana's body. It was becoming more prominent the more that she spoke. Mordred didn't know how he'd never noticed it before that moment. Perhaps, it was because he had wanted so badly not to see it. Now that he had, he couldn't stop, and Morgana was still talking.

"I want to put his head on a spike, and I want to watch the crows feast on his eyes!"

"Morgana," Mordred urged, his voice cracking, as he too stood. "Calm yourself."

Morgana drew out of her wretched reverie to meet her son's gaze. The pain -and was that _resignation_ in his eyes?- were enough to snap her back to the present. Her brows drew together in puzzlement while she took a closer look at him. "We shall have our victory soon enough." She gestured for him to sit back down, moving to reclaim her own seat. "Go ahead, eat. You're all skin and bones."

Mordred tentatively returned to his meal. Well, no, Morgana was watching him more closely than he seemed to think. He was going through the motions, but he wasn't actually eating anything anymore. She leaned forward with a sigh to call him on it when the warning bell began to ring, Morgana smirked.

"Arthur..." She got up and strode past Mordred's end of the table to get a more detailed report from her men, touching his shoulder affectionately on her way past.

Mordred hesitated.

"Come along, Little Lamb," the sorceress called without pausing to look back. "I know that you aren't eating anymore."

Mordred closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath before tucking the table knife into his sleeve. _She simply_ _had_ _to use that pet name, didn't she?_ He thought to himself, torn between annoyance and heartache. Mordred wasted no more time in following Morgana, lest she notice that something was wrong. He didn't want to have to use the knife, but he knew that he needed to take precautions if he was going to remain. Morgana was one of the clouded people. It was an affliction that he did not know how to cure. She would have to save herself, and until she did, she was a danger to everyone around her, even to him. _Keep, your distance. You can find a way through this_ , he told himself, running to catch up with his impatient guardian.

"I am not a lamb," he denied, as always, falling into step with Morgana.

She smiled up at him, poking teasingly at his cheek before she led him out into the foyer.

* * *

 **A/N** : Okay, so this one was a bit cannon heavy, but the story will diverge again soon. I hope you guys enjoyed this anyway. Special thanks to 'Offline' for the encouraging/perplexing review. If I understand you correctly, he'll pop up in the next couple chapters? Feedback is always welcome folks, and thank you all for reading!


	3. Black Sheep

**Chapter 2** **:** **The Black Sheep**

Morgana smiled at Mordred, poking teasingly at the dimple in his cheek before she led him out into the foyer. A tall, brutish-looking man with a clawed pelt hugging his armored shoulders strode forward to meet them. He was nearly twice Mordred's height with such a sturdy, muscular build that he barely looked human. He bowed his shaggy, gray head to Morgana, willfully ignoring the boy's presence.

"My Lady, the mine has been breached. I have sent reinforcements to counter the uprising, but we do not yet know how the slaves were armed," the brute reported, shooting a patently distrustful look at Mordred. Mordred met his eye, unflinching, his neutral mask back in place.

" _Arthur_. He and that servant of his sneaked into the mines, predictable as ever. He always did have problems letting go of those who agreed with him," Morgana supplied half to herself, not seeming to notice their confrontation. "Ready the rest of the men, I want all exits secured before we arrive." The other soldiers vanished from sight, eager to please their Priestess. She looked up to see Mordred and her Knight still eying each other. "Oh. Mordred, this is Sir Melwas. You see Melwas? It seems that you are not so infallible as we thought. Mordred _has_ returned to us, alive and well."

Melwas inclined his head respectfully to the Druid, "Forgive me, My Lord. I have underestimated you."

"I hold no title."

"Soon enough," Melwas replied cryptically, drawing a cocky smirk from Morgana.

"It is good to know that you are usually correct," she remarked, ushering Mordred toward the courtyard. "Come along, Mordred. We'll stop by to loose the wolves on our way. You cannot imagine how your little pup has grown."

Melwas caught his Lady's arm before she could follow Mordred out into the courtyard. "Tread with caution, Milady. I sense great change on the horizon. There is a powerful magic in the air. I have not sensed its like since you were but a babe in your mother's arms."

"Emrys..." Morgana whispered anxiously. Melwas met her eyes before looking past her at the boy waiting in the snowy courtyard. The Priestess followed her Knight's gaze to her son and felt her heartbeat quicken. The old warrior released his grip and retreated, calling for the remaining guards to follow him to the inner passage. Morgana watched, frozen in fear for a second, then turned and ran out into the courtyard.

"Mordred," she almost shouted, grabbing his hand in hers and leading him away. Morgana wrestled herself into some semblance of composure as she led him towards the wolves' hut. "Let's not dawdle."

"What is it?"

"We have much to do," she deflected, too lost in her own frantic scheming to remember how pointless it was to try to deceive him. "I will make Arthur pay for what he's done. We'll just release the wolves, then go."

"Morgana, what's wrong?" Mordred persisted, as she continued basically to drag him to the far side of the courtyard. She didn't answer. "What did he say to you? Morgana, you're hurting me!"

Morgana turned back to face him, a few paces short of the wolves' hut. Her gaze flitted distractedly over his face and she loosened her grip. "I'm sorry." She stepped closer and brushed his hair out of his face, giving him a shallow smile. He could feel the fear and rage bleeding out of her skin upon contact. "No need to fear. You will be safe with me, Little Lamb. I'll make certain of it." Mordred could see the madness flash through her eyes. There was something feral and predatory lying in wait just beneath the surface, and he was afraid that he would not be able to calm it in time. "Now..." Morgana backed away to rest her hand on the doorlatch to the wolves' pen, the monster receding in favor of playful teasing. "I think there is someone who is just _dying_ to see you again. Ready?" As soon as Mordred began to smile, Morgana released the latch and whistled. A stampede of black and white canines rushed out of their pen to join their Mistress. Mordred recognized his no-longer-little-pup's mismatched brown and gold eyes as soon as he hit the snow.

"Bran!"

The wolf let out a startled huff, and turned away from the others gathered around Morgana to face the newcomer. Mordred reached out with his magic to feel the animal's mind just as he had as a child. Bran calmed and sniffed the air, watching him crouch down on his knees, arms spread in anticipation. Bran let out a little questioning sound. Then he bounded into Mordred's waiting arms in enthusiastic welcome, licking his Master's face and shoving his nose under his collar to sniff him thoroughly, tail wagging.

Morgana watched the reunion with warmth in her sad eyes, absently toying with the iron latch that she was still leaning against. The fond expression slipped off her face as she looked down at it, replaced by calculation.

"Yes. I know... I- Alright! I missed you too," Mordred murmured, wrestling the slobbering snout away from his mouth. "Wait. Where are you going?"

Morgana spun on her heel to look back at him. She had already made it partway across the courtyard without making a sound. Mordred rose to his feet. He did not like the look on her face at all.

"I'm sorry." She sent him flying back into the shed with a wave of her hand. Mordred picked himself up off of the bale of hay where she had deposited him and tried to run back out.

"No!" Morgana shut and latched the door with another gesture, and Mordred didn't hesitate to slam himself against the barrier once, then twice. Not bothering to hide his feelings of betrayal.

"What are you doing? Let me out!"

"It is safer this way," Morgana replied, the madness overtaking her once more. "I will be done with him soon enough. Only then will we truly be free."

"No. No!" In his panic Mordred had read the theme of the madwoman's thoughts. Worse, the flickering haze around her was gaining strength, fed by the promise of more bloodshed. If he didn't find a way to stop her now, there would be nothing that he could do to save them. "Let me out! Let me help you! I need to help!"

The High Priestess had already turned her back on him, making haste towards her mines. Her guilty conscience was causing her to block him out. Brilliant.

* * *

Merlin followed Arthur and Gwaine at a more cautious pace through the torchlit caves and out of the abandoned stretch of mine. They had found Gwaine hiding in the dark alongside a... thing. It was a magical being of a sort that Merlin had never seen or heard of before. Gwaine insisted that it was harmless and that it had saved his life. Arthur had stared incredulously at it and let it run off. Although, it was hard to tell whether this was an act of mercy on his part, or if he'd simply been too nonplussed to chase it. That wasn't what was bothering Merlin anyway. Things never went this smoothly for them, especially considering that they were currently going up against Morgana. She knew them. The High Priestess was bound to have a few more nasty tricks up her sleeve. So where was she and w- Merlin's head snapped up. The mine around them was dead silent. _Where is everyone?_

"Wait," he stated firmly, stopping Gwaine and Arthur in their tracks. Both turned to look questioningly at him. "This is wrong. The Saxons, where have they all gone?"

Arthur scoffed, but Sir Gwaine looked to be considering the servant's words.

"First there are too many, now there aren't enough," Arthur dismissed. "Are you ever happy, Merlin?" He strode past Gwaine, holding the torch out in front of him, undaunted. Gwaine took a little longer to shrug it off, giving Merlin the chance to push past them, and therefore missing the relevance of the flickering torchlight.

"What was that?" Merlin persevered.

"What?" Arthur snapped. A bigger breeze blew past, warping the flames too much for anyone to miss. Merlin stopped, tilting his head as if to pinpoint the source through hearing alone.

"Feel the wind."

A loud hiss sounded from the tunnel beyond.

"That wasn't the wind," Gwaine noted gravely. Arthur was slowly creeping towards his manservant with his eyes locked on the dark shape coming towards them out of the shadows. A roar reverberated through the air. The shape was clarifying into a serpentine figure as it rushed towards them. Arthur surged forward and grabbed Merlin, throwing his torch at the beast as he yanked his servant back the way they'd come. They each ducked under one of Gwaine's arms and fled with him into a small alcove to hide while the creature surged past.

"Was that really what I think it was?" Gwaine questioned.

"Where did Morgana get a dragon from!?" Arthur demanded of no one in particular.

"I have no idea," Merlin lied, weighing his options. He wasn't likely to get another chance to investigate. Besides he could hardly risk revealing himself to be a Dragonlord should she decide to double back and attack them. "Get Gwaine back to Percival. I'll lure the dragon the other way."

Both his friends looked at him as though he had just declared himself to be Queen of the Sidhe.

"Merlin, I have always known you to be stupid, but even _you_ are not that stupid," Arthur replied, turning back to Gwaine to discuss their actual plan.

"No, really, I am that stupid, and if you don't believe me, watch," and with that Merlin was off like a shot before Arthur could manage to grab him.

"Merlin!" Arthur sighed and pulled himself upright. "I'm going after him."

* * *

Mordred knelt down on the other side of the latch and raised his hand. "Unlūcan." A shimmer of light passed over the latch and diffused into a harmless, shimmering wisp. Mordred blew out a breath and let his forehead fall against the wood. Of course, Morgana knew that he wouldn't want to sit and wait, so she had blocked his magic. Mordred knocked his head against the wood, feeling the despair sink in. A canine whine answered from the other side and he heard a wolf sniffing, and shuffling about. Mordred sat up straighter. "Bran?"

A responding puff of breath from the wolf confirmed his guess to be true. Bran never handled barriers between them very well. His original purpose had been to keep Mordred safe while Morgana wasn't around.

"What are you still doing here?" Mordred asked, probing the animal's recent memories. Morgana had stationed his wolf here to guard him once more. _Against_ _what_? _Never mind. One problem at a time._ Mordred used the wolf's eyes to take a good look at the latch. It was sturdily made, but simple enough to release from the outside. Unfortunately, it looked to be made of pure iron, which explained why magic wasn't an option. Mordred turned and sat back against the door, hearing Bran lie down on the other side. "Think. You've been trapped before. There is always another way out. Find it." Mordred turned his head and smirked at the fireplace at the far side of the hut. "She thinks that she knows me so well."

* * *

Merlin followed Aithusa's wild hisses and growls to a tunnel jutting off to the left, a good distance away from the others. Aithusa crouched down, roaring at him. Merlin flinched but stepped closer, regardless, as soon as he'd recovered from his surprise. She let out an uncertain whine, watching him tentatively. Merlin walked out to stand in front of her. "Aithusa."

She spat fire at him, but he easily deflected it keeping his hand raised to block her frightened outbursts.

He scolded her in Dragon's Tongue but instantly felt guilty when all she did in response was whimper and limp a step closer to him. "What happened?"

She whimpered again, growling softly.

"Who did this to you?" Merlin asked, leaning down to match her eye level. "I won't harm you."

She just let out another pitiful growl.

"What does that mean?" Then Merlin stilled, feeling his veins fill with ice. "You can't speak."

"Merlin!" Arthur's voice called from nearby.

"You have to run," Merlin warned the young dragon.

Aithusa shook her head, clearly not wanting to leave her kin behind.

"Go!" Merlin insisted. They could hear Arthur running towards them. Merlin shouted firmly to Aithusa in Dragon's Tongue and she slunk away unhappily. At least he wouldn't have to see Arthur try to kill her.

* * *

Arthur stopped to consider a fork in the cave, uncertain of which way to turn. "Merlin?" After further contemplation he went with the tunnel on his left, as it looked vaguely more abused. "Merlin?" he called again. _So help me, if that idiot has gone and gotten himself killed!_ "Merlin?"

A way behind him, Morgana prowled after him, smirking to herself but turned sharply towards the magical presence running up behind her. She raised her hand to strike only to drop it to her side when she recognized him, her eyes bulging in fury. "Mordred!" she scolded in a harsh whisper.

"There you are," Mordred greeted with the hint of a smile, pausing to lean against the wall and catch his breath.

"Keep your voice down! You cannot be here!" Morgana scolded.

Mordred looked around them, then down at himself, before meeting her eyes with mock-incredulity.

"There is no time to argue over this! Get back to the Keep."

"No."

"Mordred!" Morgana snapped, then a thought occured to her. "Where's Bran?"

"...back in the Keep."

"Stop smirking, and do as I say. This is no time for your games!"

Arthur's voice echoed from farther into the mine. "Merlin, is that you?"

There was a beat of silence.

"Morgana. Do we have time to argue, or do we not?" Mordred asked more quietly, straightening up to favor her with a questioning expression.

"You will stay behind me," Morgana ordered through clenched teeth.

"I promise," Mordred agreed.

"And wipe that soot off your face. You look like a peasant," Morgana ordered. She'd never gotten cross with him before, just snippy. It was a relief to see that the rule still applied. They followed the sound of Arthur's voice. Morgana was already smirking in enjoyment, while Mordred tried to figure out a way to alert the King to their presence without her noticing or being endangered by it. In the end it didn't really matter. He was virtually trapped, regardless.

"Merlin?" Arthur called one last time before Morgana stepped out of the shadows behind him.

"How good of you to save me the trouble of finding you," she remarked.

Arthur reached for his sword, only to remember that he'd given it to Percival.

"Oh, dear. How remiss of you," Morgana taunted. "Your bravery is only matched by your stupidity. What on Earth did you think you would gain from coming here?"

Arthur turned to look at her, but his gaze drifted instead to the stoic teenager standing behind her left shoulder. Arthur returned his sister's smirking stare with an equally stoic mask. "I had to free my men."

Morgana chuckled. Then lifted her hand; a dagger flew out from under her furs to embed itself in Arthur's shoulder. He fell to the ground with a grunt of pain while the dagger flew back up into the air to hover threateningly above him. "This time it seems there really is no way out."

"What our father did to you, I truly am sorry about that," Arthur groaned out, pushing himself up into a seated position.

"Uther was _never_ my father," Morgana spat.

"But we are brother and sister."

"Funny how you choose to remember that with my dagger at your back," Morgana sneered.

Arthur shook his head, rising to face her. "What happened to you, Morgana? As a child you were always so kind. So compassionate."

"I grew up." The witch sent her dagger into his unwounded shoulder, knocking him onto his back.

Mordred flinched, his hand twitching upward as if to grab Morgana's cloak, but neither of the others seemed to notice.

"You are right to cower before my hand," she continued. "I am more powerful than you could ever imagine."

"Yet all you choose to do is hate," Arthur countered, sounding disappointed rather than intimidated.

Morgana smiled coldly. "Uther taught me well."

"My Lady," Mordred rested a hand on her arm, ignoring the way that his skin vanished from his sight under the pulsing aura of thick, grey fog that warped and twitched as it gained substance. Only he could see it and this was no time to be squeamish. They had almost reached the point of no return.

"You want to help me, Mordred?" Morgana's affectionate tone had become warped and sickly sweet, overshadowed by her cruel actions.

"This isn't-" Mordred began, still uncertain of how he was going to counteract her vengeful high.

Merlin came running into the cavern from a connecting tunnel, shouting, "Arthur!"

Mordred drew the knife out of his sleeve as Morgana hurled the warlock back into the wall with a wave of invisible force. Mordred heard the sickening crack and watched Merlin desperately struggle to keep his eyes open as he slumped.

Morgana smirked at him. "I told you: you're safe with me."

Mordred looked up at her, torn, but she had already turned away to continue tormenting her brother. It was almost over now. He had to stop it, but how could he? There were no words, no spells that could stop her now. Her soul and his fate were unfurling before his eyes while he just stood there and watched. Mordred looked down at the knife in his hand and swallowed. He _could_ stop this.

"Morgana... please," Arthur implored her as Mordred stepped up behind her. She pinned the King down with her magic.

"Don't speak, Dear Brother," she began to recite the incantation that would spell his gruesome end. Mordred shoved the knife into her back, trying not to puncture anything vital. "N-no..." Morgana choked out. She let out a broken little moan as Mordred lowered her to the floor, twisting in his arms to stare up at him, eyes pleading. Mordred couldn't look away. His mouth had gone dry, and he wasn't sure if he was even breathing anymore.

 **"I am so very sorry..."** Mordred knew that the admission didn't really matter. He doubted that Morgana would ever forgive him let alone understand why he'd done what he had just done, but it was truly how he felt.

"Mordred?" She gasped out, heartbroken, before she succumbed to unconsciousness. Mordred stared at her for a moment, then crossed over to haul Arthur to his feet. As he was hooking Arthur's arm over his shoulders, Mordred caught sight of a spidery mass of flickering, greyish haze over his own forearm spreading faintly to the back of his knuckles. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to ignore it. He had known the risk full well. There was no going back. He focused on getting Arthur back to his people.

* * *

Merlin blinked blearily awake to find the strange glowing creature who'd saved Gwaine now leaning over him. Its luminous hands were on his chest and head, healing him.

"Emrys," it greeted pleasantly in that ancient, raspy voice.

"Where's Arthur?"

The creature smiled. "He is safe, for now. The boy has returned him to his knights' care."

"Mordred," Merlin inferred darkly.

"Yes," the creature seemed amused by his response.

"I'm sorry. You've lived here hidden for so long, and now..."

"The Priestess has spent so much energy and risked so much in search of something that few wise men would ever want."

"The Diamere," Merlin inferred.

"Yes."

"That's you, isn't it? You live with all that knowledge... Sometimes I can feel the weight of my own destiny threatening to crush me, but that is nothing compared to what you must go through," Merlin reflected.

"It is both a blessing, and a curse," the Diamere agreed. "So, Great Warlock, do you have a question for me?"

"No thanks," Merlin said, noticing the creature's approval as it began to turn away. Too bad he couldn't stick to his instincts. This chance was too tempting. "Wait. No, I do."

The Diamere turned back to look at him.

"If Mordred isn't Arthur's Bane, then who is?"

"Himself," the Diamere answered with exceding clarity. _Must everyone question my intelligence?_

The Diamere looked towards the far entrance to the cavern and smiled knowingly down at him. "I will leave you in good hands, then," it remarked and scampered off as a familiar, darkly clad teenager jogged into view.

"Mordred?"

"Oh good, you aren't dead," the Druid replied, giving Morgana's limp form on the ground a wide berth on his way to meet him.

"I thought that you were with Arthur," Merlin grunted as he pulled himself upright, using a rocky outcropping rather than accepting the hand offered.

"I was. He's safe with his men," Mordred assured him. "I thought that you might need help."

"I'm fine," Merlin answered with a little more force than he had consciously intended.

Mordred just looked at him.

"This way, I suppose?" Merlin said, stepping around Morgana halfheartedly on his way to the tunnel her ex-ward had recently exited. Mordred nodded and followed after him, but they both stopped short on the next step; two flailing, screaming men were hurled into view like rejected ragdolls from the other end of the tunnel, accompanied by a deep, reverberating yell.

Mordred grabbed Merlin's sleeve and tugged him back towards the other tunnel. "This way."

"Why?" Merlin interrogated, lagging behind.

Mordred spun round to face him. Merlin was sure that he was about to get an earful, but instead he was patiently informed by the soft-spoken Druid: "There is a secret passage that leads into the palace propper. Melwas is a powerful sorcerer, Emrys, and though I am certain that you could best him should the need arise, you belong at Arthur's side."

Merlin whipped his head around to see the massive silhouette marching towards them out of the shadows. "Lead the way."

Mordred dragged him towards the hidden exit as fast as they both could run. Unfortunately, Melwas had charged after them once he saw the state they'd left Morgana in. He was close behind them when Mordred coaxed the door open with a well-practiced gesture and a prayer in his native tongue. The giant's shadow was already prowling around the corner, preceding its deadly owner. The Druid shoved his Messiah through the doorway.

"Quickly. Try to avoid the internal patrols. They'll be marching in pairs," he advised, grabbing the door with intent to seal it between them. Merlin blocked it open with his forearm.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Giving you enough time to escape." Mordred tried to push the door shut but Merlin didn't budge. "Emrys!"

"Have you gone mad?!" Merlin argued, stealing a glance at the approaching Melwas over Mordred's shoulder.

"Not yet," Mordred replied, with an oddly sardonic note. He locked eyes with Merlin, knowing even before the attempt just how fleeting his influence on the warlock's thoughts would be. "We both know that your life is worth far more than mine. **Leave now. Protect our King.** "

Merlin found himself at the other end of the hidden passageway with a Mordred shaped hole where his memory of the last few seconds ought to be. The seal on the door at the far end of the passageway had roused him from his trance when it clunked shut. Merlin glared at it only to jump, startled by a painful-sounding slam.

* * *

On the other side of the door, Melwas surged forward, tackling Mordred's much smaller body into the metal door hard enough to make the boy's vision white out for a second. Melwas took advantage of the momentary stunned state to grab him round the middle and hurl him into the tunnel wall on their right. Melwas tried the door only to find it locked. He pressed his hand to the engraving to release the seal.

"No!" Mordred stumbled to his feet and charged, dropping his shoulder to ram the larger man under the ribs. Melwas moved to knee him in the chest but he pulled back out of the way. Mordred lifted his palm.

"Bærne!" His fireball missed the other man's ducking head by a hairsbreadth.

"Beswencan!" Melwas countered with a spell that Mordred didn't recognize, sending a formless flash of glowing, gray vapor into his throat. Pain screamed through his nerves everywhere the substance touched. He struggled to remain upright until the light dissipated, not even noticing his own strangled cry.

Melwas swept his sword down to gut him while he was crippled.

Mordred dodged it, having picked the movement up from his opponent's mind before it could be enacted, and grabbed the larger warrior's forearm in a vise-like grip.

* * *

In the passageway, another type of battle was going on in Merlin's head.

"Just leave him. This is your chance. He told you to leave him behind," Merlin urged himself, remembering Kilgarrah's warnings. "No one will blame you, and he can't be Arthur's Bane if he's dead." There was a crash, punctuated by a cry of pain from Mordred, followed by the unmistakable snap of breaking bone, and a gutteral shout of "Die, you little bastard!" Merlin flinched, remembering the phrasing of Mordred's magically-assisted command. "I have to get back to Arthur." He forced himself to turn his back on the mines. He already hated himself for abandoning the boy, again, as he ran towards the dark stairway up ahead.

* * *

Mordred swept a leg under Melwas, knocking him onto his back. He grabbed the sword out of the sorcerer's faltering grip and pointed it at his throat, only to see the old warrior's eyes flash with powerful magic. He slammed his huge fists down on the floor of the mine, shouting another strange spell. The mine trembled, sending chunks of wall and ceiling tumbling down on their heads. Mordred ducked out of the way of a massive piece of ceiling that would've crushed his head like a walnut, and lay on the floor with his arms shielding the back of his head. The instant that the quaking ceased, he scrambled for the fallen sword.

Melwas grabbed his leg and dragged him away, knocking him against heaps of rubble as he went. The giant seemed to have spoiled his own luck by fighting dirty, though. He tripped on a loose shard of wall and fell to his knees. He tried to retain the advantage by swinging Mordred up into the wall, but the ex-thief twisted in his grip, using the momentum to wrap his legs around the larger man's neck. He kept a merciless, strangling, grip until the warrior's flailing limbs went still and his dark eyes fell shut. The Druid lay there for a moment, recovering his strength as much as he could despite the the thick dust cloud in the air. Then he pushed himself upright, grabbed the sword and left.

* * *

Merlin crept through the eerily silent coridor into what appeared to be Morgana's unexpectedly abandoned dining room. A half-eaten supper for two was still set out on the table, as if the High Priestess and her guest might return at any moment to finish it. He wandered over to inspect the lines of symbols carved into the apple, absently mouthing the meaning while he worked out the translation. _Boy love, boy love illusion..._

"Ah. He loves me, he loves me not," he muttered under his breath, setting the apple back in its place.

"I see that you've made it this far without incident."

Merlin nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling to face the unexpected company standing in the doorway behind him. He'd been feeling that he was being watched ever since he'd left the passage, but the sudden confirmation wasn't reassuring.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Mordred apologized, sort of. He was secretly amused that the Great All-Powerful Emrys had not yet discovered his lupine shadow watching them from under the table.

"You're alive," was Merlin's intelligent response. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or cross. Although, it occured to him that even as a child, Mordred had always had that effect on him.

"The courtyard is this way," Mordred walked away, beckoning for him to follow. "We'll need to look out for-" Mordred grabbed Merlin by the shoulders and shoved him behind a column, holding his sword at the ready.

"What is it?" Merlin whispered.

"Someone's here." Mordred closed his eyes and reached out with his magic, searching their surroundings for the source of the threat. The enemy's mind was too elusive to belong to a mere guard. It was someone who had trained their mind to resist Clairvoyants. Someone powerful.

The click of paws on the stone floor broke the tense silence. A silver wolf with mismatched eyes trotted over to the end of the hall at Mordred's back. He saw Merlin standing close at his Master's side and growled menacingly.

"It's a wolf!" Merlin exclaimed, pressing back against the column as far as he could.

"Bran, sit," Mordred instructed, without bothering to open his eyes. Bran obediently complied, continuing to monitor Merlin's every movement.

"Did you just order a wolf to sit down?"

"Yes. There's another sorcerer here somewhere. I can't determine their exact location."

"You always find _me,"_ Merlin said with a frown.

"You're not trained to resist my influence. No one has bothered with that practice since the Purge."

"Oh..."

Mordred opened his eyes and noticed the warlock's calculating look. "Yes, I will teach you if we both make it out of here alive."

"I wasn't going to ask," Merlin said guiltily. "Come on. We have to get out of here. I doubt that they're trained against _my_ magic."

Bran stood up and let out a questioning howl.

"No," Mordred corrected, ignoring the imploring tilt of his loyal pet's head staring after them.

Merlin glanced back as they rounded the corner. "What's wrong with it?"

"Morgana directed Bran to guard me after she left to face Arthur. She hasn't rescinded it yet," Mordred explained. "He won't pose a threat to you so long as you do me no harm, at least until she gives him a new purpose."

"She can do that?"

"He was already my pet once. It's hardly difficult to make him do something that he already wants to do."

They made it to the front entrance with little opposition. Merlin merely manipulated the air around them with his magic, sweeping aside the few guards they did run into and locking them in adjacent rooms. Their stalker didn't strike until they'd reached the front doors. Merlin strode out into the snowy courtyard with Mordred only a few paces behind. The heavy oak doors slammed shut in Mordred's face, causing Merlin to jump. His eyes flickered over the sobering scene of scattered corpses in the mostly deserted courtyard feeling dread twisting in his gut.

"Mordred?" Merlin ran back over to the entrance. The doors wouldn't budge so he slammed his fist against the wood. "Mordred? Answer me!"

On the other side, Mordred raised his sword and turned to face the other sorcerer. "He's here," he called to Merlin.

" _Harbinger_ ," Melwas spat. "Did you think that I would let you go so easily? You, the betrayer!"

In the background Merlin was still calling to Mordred and banging on the door, but they both ignored him.

"You've recovered quickly," Mordred noted, refusing to acknowledge the sting of the other man's insults. "Especially for a man as old as you must be."

"My magic is strong. Strong enough to end your cursed existence for the good of us all."

"Mordred! Release the bolt!" Merlin shouted, frustrated.

"Goodbye, Emrys," Mordred replied, answering Melwas' grin with a stoic nod. They locked in battle. Mordred used only his sword while the warrior used both his knife and several destructive spells to try and either burn him to death or blast him to pieces.

"Ābeatān!" Melwas bellowed and Mordred barely ducked under his reaching fist in time. A blast of concussive force surged past him, causing his ears to pop on its way to obliterate the stone carving that adorned the top of the door. Mordred tried to stab Melwas in the stomach. He blocked the blade with his dagger and kicked Mordred hard in his chest. Mordred dropped to the floor coughing. The sword slipped out of his hand. Melwas extended an arm towards him. "Bærne!"

A gray blur surged through the air to tackle him, knocking the deadly spell off course so that it set fire to a molding wall hanging instead. Bran dug his teeth into Melwas' arm and shook the limb wildly. Melwas let out a cry of pain and threw the little animal off of him to bounce off the wall. Mordred tried to grab his sword off the stone tiles but a massive boot stomped down on the blade. Melwas raised his dagger to make the killing strike. The double doors exploded inwards, knocking the giant off his feet. _Two in a row,_ Mordred thought to himself, barely believing his luck. Merlin marched forward to stand over him.

"Emrys," Mordred gasped out, sounding baffled. "You've just saved my life."

Melwas began to get up. Merlin stamped his foot, driving the stone to ripple almost like water under his will, the floor cracking loudly under the force of his magic. The warrior bounced up into the air and smacked his head against the side of the archway.

"Now I have," Merlin agreed as the gold faded from his eyes. He offered his not-quite-enemy a hand up. "I decided that I shouldn't encourage this suicidal habit of yours."

"I..." Mordred seemed to be dazed by the rare display of Emrys' true power. The sound of a soft whine from the corner snapped him out of it."He threw Bran!" he exclaimed and hurried over to check on his pet.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, what'd you think? We'll be leaving canon behind for a while(hooray!) I hope Merlin's sympathy for Mordred-though different- isn't too jarring. I just feel in this time, he might be affected, if only subliminally by Arthur's search. Even if he doesn't know who Mordred is yet. Anyway, thank you for reading this. Special thanks to _JarvisAI_ for the kind review. Feedback is most welcome!


	4. Head of the Pack

**Chapter 3: Head of the Pack**

Arthur woke in the back of a moving wagon with frayed, wool blankets bundled around him. It was well into morning. There were others bustling about, mostly out of sight, as a soft dusting of snow began to fall over their procession. Arthur's whole body hurt and judging from Percival's tired, yet authoritative voice giving orders to the men around him, they were still in quite a bit of trouble. Where has Merlin got to..?

"Merlin," Arthur started to sit up, but Gwaine ducked into view, pushing him back down.

"Easy, Sire. You're still badly wounded."

"Where's Merlin?" Arthur demanded. Gwaine's brow crinkled in thought.

"Last I saw him, he was wandering off arguing with that ragamuffin who carried you out," he reported.

Arthur rolled his eyes, lying back on the pile of rags bundled under him. "Typical. What is it now?"

"Morgana's wolves are still on the prowl. Well, most of them. The boy seemed to think that he could do something about it," Gwaine recounted. "Percy told him it was daft, but he seemed set on it."

Arthur sat bolt upright, wincing when the sudden movement strained his wounds. "MORDRED!" It was not the sort of summons that one disobeyed. "Merlin! Mordred! Get back here this instant!"

There was an expectant pause while everyone waited to see what happened, and most of the knights tried to pretend that they weren't eavesdropping. Mordred leapt nimbly up onto the back of the wagon, his gaze instantly lowered in deference to the nobleman's status. Merlin ambled over with a far less submissive air, to follow behind the cart with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Yes, Arthur?" he prompted, immunized to Arthur's bellowing by years of royal tantrums.

"What is this I hear about you chasing wolves?" Arthur prompted, making his disapproval clear.

"That is all Mordred's idea. I told him not to."

Mordred cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable.

Arthur turned his no nonsense stare on the teenager. "Please, tell me about this plan. I'm sure that there is a truly fascinating reason why you think that you're more suited to handle these beasts than my best trained knights."

"Well, Sire, I..." Mordred paused to collect his thoughts and continued. "I do not intend to chase them, nor fight them. I would rather not spill more blood."

"They're wild animals! You can't reason with wolves!" Gwaine put in.

"They are trained pets," Mordred corrected, looking from the incredulous knight to his King. "They know me. I may have a better chance with them than your knights."

"They aren't all like Bran," Merlin reminded him, sounding as though he'd already grown bored of this argument. "Besides, you stabbed their Mistress in the back."

Mordred disregarded it, keeping his attention solely on Arthur.

"I don't think that- Hold on! Who or what is Bran?" Arthur noticed the way that both Mordred and Merlin were now avoiding looking at him altogether.

"That would be Mordred's pet," Gwaine supplied.

"Wolf," Merlin added pointedly. Arthur turned to Mordred with renewed interest.

"We found him in Morgana's Keep," he confessed.

"You have a pet wolf," Arthur assimilated.

"He was much smaller when I was a child," Mordred pointed out. "He was a runt. He's very well behaved! You could even tell Sir Percival to let him out of the cage..."

"Not going to happen," Gwaine disagreed before Arthur could think to.

"That problem aside, I can't in good conscience direct you to face Morgana in any right while you're injured," Arthur returned to the less confusing issue, leaving the headache inducing 'Bran' for a time when he didn't feel as if he might be leaking.

"Merlin looked after me. I'm fine. My leg wound is already scabbing over," Mordred assured him mostly-honestly. Arthur looked past him.

"Merlin?"

"I think it's a bad idea, but I suppose that he is well enough to run for his life if that's what you're asking," Merlin answered drily.

"Gwaine, you and Percival will accompany Mordred," Arthur decided. He added to Mordred, "If there are any wolves stalking our procession, you can try to subdue them. My men will step in if and when you fail."

Mordred inclined his head respectfully. "Yes, Sire." He then turned and helped Merlin climb into the back of the wagon to take his place at the King's side. Then the boy jumped effortlessly down and headed off to fetch Percival without even breaking his stride. Gwaine followed suit and stumbled to the side upon landing.

"Whoa! He made that look a lot easier," he muttered with a self-deprecating chuckle and wandered out of sight.

* * *

Melwas set Morgana down on her throne and moved to check on her stab wound. She blinked awake again and batted his hand away.

"I will heal it on my own. The wound isn't serious," she snapped, preoccupied with her own racing torrent of thoughts and concerns.

"It is brilliant luck if that is true, Milady," Melwas commented.

"Luck has nothing to do with it!" Morgana surged up from her throne and walked over to a massive window. "Where is Mordred? When I first woke I felt him screaming."

"I fought him, Milady," the warrior confessed, drawing the Priestess' wide-eyed stare. "He is gone now."

"Gone?" she bit out.

"I attempted to capture him, but there was another... He, overpowered me. He broke the very ground beneath my feet!"

"Emrys! Emrys has my Mordred!"

"Milady-" Melwas began, cutting himself off in alarm when she stormed out- as well as one can storm whilst cradling one's side. "Milady, wait! I urge you to bear in mind that whatever your relationship with this boy might have been, it was not our foe he chose to fight. Mordred has betrayed us. We have managed to seal the remaining rebels out of the Keep, but it is only a matter of time-"

"Silence! Sir Melwas, I value your counsel when it is warranted. Now is not such a time," Morgana warned. "Do we still have his previous captor in our cells?"

Sir Melwas took a steadying breath before answering, "Yes. It seems that King Arthur and his men were not so keen to spare the wretch."

"Good. I think it is time that I paid him a visit." Morgana smirked cruelly. She wasn't finished yet, not until she had Emrys' head on a platter. "We are not leaving this place until I get answers."

* * *

Mordred turned toward a snowy peak off to the left of the path. He, Sir Percival, and Sir Gwaine had fallen behind the end of their procession in search of threats.

"Did you see something?" Gwaine asked.

Mordred took a few steps off the path, and Percival was quick to intercept him.

"Oi! I'm responsible for you, remember?"

"Tracks. I see tracks in the snow." Mordred pointed to the trail of paw prints looping around the peak. "There."

"All right. We'll check it out," Percival said, readjusting his grip on his crossbow. "Keep close."

"I'd rather not..." Mordred fell silent, holding his hands up in surrender in reponse to the blond knight's cautioning look. They crept around the outcropping, seeing no sign of the wolves other than more tracks in the snow. Mordred narrowed his eyes and climbed up onto the top of the frozen rock to get a better view.

"Careful," Gwaine cautioned, still investigating the wolf's tracks. Percival moved a little closer to the outcropping in case he ended up needing to catch a falling teenager.

"Can you see anything?"

Mordred looked about with a careful eye. "Sir Gwaine, look out!"

A large, dark grey wolf darted out from behind a rise in the glacier ahead of them and bared her teeth at the two knights. Another leapt from his perch on second outcropping at their backs, intending to strike. Mordred jumped down to land in a crouch directly in front of him, locking eyes with the canine.

"Mordred!" Gwaine exclaimed. He didn't understand the dynamics of the situation in the way that the young Druid did. Thanks in part to his clairvoyance, Mordred still ranked as the Beta of Morgana's pack, leaving him second only to the Sorceress herself in terms of dominance.

"Back," Mordred stated firmly, barely raising his voice, shifting his frosty gaze from one wolf to the other. Ironically enough, Aglæcan* submitted first, trotting off in the direction of the fortess, but his sister, Durwyn*, was less easily convinced. She stopped her approach but continued to bare her teeth at Sir Gwaine and growl. He raised his sword preemptively. "Don't. If you lash out now you will only be giving her an excuse to attack." Mordred walked over and placed himself between them. "No," he chastened her, leaning forward into her space to better cover the brief shimmer of magic in his eyes. She let a out a less-formidable growl, reminiscent of a petulant child. "Go home. Go!" He clapped once to punctuate the last word and the wolf fled with her tail hanging repentantly.

"I cannot believe that worked!" Percival remarked, exchanging an impressed look with Gwaine.

"I raised Bran, didn't I?" Mordred brushed it off. He started to head back towards the path, then turned back to the others. "Does that mean that you might consider letting him out of the cage?"

"Not until King Arthur gives his permission," Gwaine denied. He gave the disappointed youth a pat on the shoulder. "Sorry, Mate."

* * *

Ragnor hung by his chained hands in the center of a nearly pitch-black cell. His headwound had been cleaned and crudely stitched shut, and he had been stripped down to his pants despite the chill. The door creaked open shining warm torchlight into the room, and the prisoner's hanging head tilted upward so he could squint at the backlit visitor.

"My Lady. To what do I owe this honor?" Ragnor greeted, slurring his words slightly.

"Oh, don't look so disappointed to see me. There could be an opportunity to improve your situation. I'm feeling charitable," Morgana taunted, then her expression sobered. "It has been far too long since I last saw my Mordred. He has changed so much."

"Two years can seem like a very long time," Ragnor agreed, watching her cross the dank cell to stand in front of him. Then he laughed, reading her expression more easily than he'd learned to read Mordred's eyes. "He betrayed you! Tricky little brat, isn't he?"

Morgana struck him in retribution for the insult, then grabbed his face between both her hands, leaning closer until they were almost nose to nose. "You were there to see him change. I need to know him again in the way that I used to. You're going to help me. Teach me everything that you know about Mordred."

"And why should I do that? You're the one he meant when he said he had someone waiting for him? Two years and I never heard another word about you."

A flicker of raw emotion passed over the sorceress' face while she processed that idea. Perhaps he had always meant to return to her... She pushed the sentiment down until a more opportune moment, her sorrow making way for her usual rage. "That is none of your concern! I will bring him back to my side where he belongs, and you are going to help me whether you want to or not," Morgana hissed. "Serve me well and you will be rewarded, but if you deny me what is rightfully mine, I will end your worthless little life the first moment that it suits me!"

"Now, now! I'm a reasonable man. You want to talk business, My Lady? I'd give you anything you want for the right price," Ragnor assured her. "My freedom for a bit of knowledge, I'd call that a fair bargain."

Morgana smiled ferally at him and stepped away to lean back against the wall, facing him with her hands folded over her stomach. "A wise decision. Now, Ragnor, tell me about my son."

* * *

The rest of their journey was fairly uneventful. It seemed that the rest of Morgana's pack were losing interest in their group. The majority of them turned back, one by one as dusk fell. Talon wandered a little too close to the wagon and Mordred couldn't supress his flinch when one of Arthur's knights threw a torch at him. It missed, and the darkly-colored wolf disappeared into the night. That was the last sighting. An hour later, Arthur finally ordered a halt. Percival took first watch.

After a half hour of lying still and staring at the snow, Mordred gave up the act and got up.

"Wha..." Merlin stirred awake on his makeshift bedding and blinked up at him.

"It's just me," Mordred muttered, doubting that would reassure the distrustful guardian.

"Oh." Merlin scrubbed a hand over his face and turned to check on the King who was still fast asleep in the back of the wagon. "Why?"

"Couldn't sleep. There's no need to trouble yourself," Mordred said, dismayed to see the sleepy warlock push himself into a seated position instead of lying back down. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Doesn't matter," Merlin said, standing up. "I'm up now." He grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around himself. "Aren't you cold?"

"I was planning to sit by the fire."

"Good idea."

Mordred led the way to the small bonfire and sat down a polite distance away from Sir Percival.

"Mordred, Merlin, I thought everyone else was down for the night," he greeted.

"I did too," Merlin responded, taking a seat on Mordred's other side. He didn't seem too concerned with keeping a polite distance.

"I'll sleep better when we're on safer ground," Mordred affirmed, ignoring Merlin's jab. He had hoped that they were over the suspicious stage, but apparently, he had a way to go.

"I can understand that. At least we know that we won't have to worry about anymore wolves with you around," Percival joked.

"Is that my duty now, to be the wolf tamer?"

Percival chuckled. "Something like that. We'll be nearing the border soon. We should be safe once we're on the other side."

"You don't have any quarrels with Queen Annis' people that we should know about, do you Mordred?" Merlin questioned.

"None that I can recall," Mordred replied. The annoying way that Merlin was behaving towards him almost cancelled out the guilt caused by his lie. ("I may have stolen from a local merchant or two," he confides. "But my face was completely covered. They wouldn't recognize me now anyway. Associations are a powerful thing. No one is going to draw the connection between a friend of King Arthur Pendragon, and the cat burglar who broke into their private storeroom a year and a half ago.")

Merlin didn't seem convinced, but it might have just been another hint of his continuing bitterness causing his face to look that way.

"I can part ways with you once we reach the lower town," Mordred announced "I'm sure that Arthur's allies will be glad to give you aid upon your arrival."

"Why are you so eager to be rid of us? Are you afraid that King Arthur might want to keep you?" Percival teased.

"I think that you and your King must have greater concerns beyond my wellbeing," Mordred replied. Turning his attention to Merlin, he continued, "I do not desire to overstay my welcome."

"Nonsense," Percival denied, missing the silent exchange. "You saved his life. We owe you for that."

"Hardly."

Percival turned to Merlin. "Is he always this stubborn?"

The corner of Merlin's lips quirked upwards despite his wishes. "You have no idea. You should have seen him during our escape."

Mordred kept his attention on the dancing flames in front of him. "I was being practical."

Merlin gave a sarcastic shake of his head.

Percival breathed out a laugh before asking seriously, "Aren't you at all concerned that the witch will come after you?"

"I have survived on my own for most of my life. Morgana would not be the first person to want my head," Mordred replied, still staring meditatively into the fire. "I doubt that she will be the last."

"Why would anyone else want to kill you?" Sir Percival asked before he thought the better of it. He and the other knights hadn't known this boy for very long but they had all found him to be naturally likeable.

"I am... stubborn," Mordred answered, alluding to the others' previous remarks.

* * *

Arthur blinked awake with the sunrise and sat up to see if anyone else was awake yet. Mordred's space behind the cart was unoccupied, as was Merlin's mat.

"Merlin?" he whispered speculatively. When no response came, he snapped "Merlin!" in a stage-whisper.

After a bit of cautious shuffling, his loyal manservant trudged over to him from the direction of the fire, looking exhausted. "What?"

"What were you doing over there?"

There was a beat of awkward silence between them before Merlin admitted, "First we moved over by the fire to keep warm, but now it's Gwaine's turn at watch and he won't shut up."

Arthur began to laugh quietly at his friend's misfortune.

"It's not funny, Arthur! I would have gone to bed an hour ago but Mordred fell asleep on me," Merlin recounted, scowling when this only sent Arthur into deeper fits of laughter. The grinning royal had only just managed to stop laughing at him when Gwaine's barely-modulated voice, and Mordred's sleepy mumbling drifted over from the fireside.

"Mordred, are you still asleep?"

"Yes."

"You don't sound like you're asleep," Gwaine noted. The silence stretched for a little while. Merlin had hopped up to sit on the edge of the wagon before the next break in the stillness of dawn. "I was just thinking: not many people keep wolves as pets. You said that you got him as a child?" the knight ventured.

There was a heavy, put-upon sigh that Arthur and Merlin attributed to Mordred by default. "Yes..." he answered.

"There's probably a good story behind that," Gwaine prompted, hopefully.

"Yes."

"Could you tell me?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"No."

"You aren't going to be able to keep answering everything that I say with a single syllable." Gwaine considered it for a beat. "Although, I am curious to see how long you can."

"Help," Mordred said this last response at a more audible volume, sounding worried.

Gwaine chuckled.

Mordred got up and wandered back to his previous sleeping area with his eyes only half-open and his clothes looking even more rumpled than before. He paused upon reaching the wagon to squint disapprovingly at Merlin, then curled up on the vacant mat with his arms covering his head. Merlin seemed to take that as his cue to flop down on his side at Arthur's feet and do much the same. It didn't take the blanketless Mordred long to start shivering.

"...Mordred?" Arthur whispered.

Mordred curled up a little tighter.

"Mordred. Do you..." Arthur noticed the Druid looking balefully up at him, as if on the verge of a breakdown. The King sighed, "Forget it," and pulled the top blanket off his own coverings, dropping it unceremoniously on top of the shivering teen.

Mordred slowly uncurled from his protective ball and spread the blanket out over himself. "Thank you, your Majesty." He sounded a tad repentant for misjudging the King's intention.

"You're welcome, Mordred. Sweet dreams." Arthur figured it was easier just to overlook it.

When the King woke again a few hours later, they were moving once more and Mordred had taken Merlin's place beside him in the wagon. "Morning..."

"Good morning, Sire," Mordred greeted, readjusting the gray, wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The wind that had built up over the course of the morning was making it feel far colder than yesterday despite their progress into greener, more habitable terrain. "Merlin is at the head of the procession, helping to distribute the rest of our provisions," he informed, correctly predicting Arthur's next request.

"We're running out of food?" Arthur questioned.

"Yes, but we should reach Caerleon before nightfall. I'm sure that you will be able to find food and board once you're there," Mordred reassured him.

"You don't intend to accompany us," Arthur observed.

"I am content to find my own way once we reach the border."

"There is no need. We would be happy to have you with us. You would be my honored guest in Camelot for as long as you wish," Arthur said, surprised to see Mordred begin to shake his head halfway through.

"That is very kind of you, Sire, but I cannot ask you-"

"Mordred," Arthur cut off whatever overly-polite refusal the boy was about to make. "You have saved my life."

"As you once saved mine," Mordred put in.

"Twice over," Arthur amended, ignoring Mordred's attempt to wave it off. "The least that I can do is make sure that you will have a place to stay until you get your footing."

"May I speak frankly, your Magesty?" Mordred requested, looking determined.

"I welcome it," Arthur assented, pushing himself up into a seated position.

"You keep Bran in a cage."

Arthur took a deep breath, and rubbed a hand over his face. "The wolf?"

"He is the last remnant of home that still remains to me," Mordred explained. "I have no desire to live in a place where he is not welcome."

Arthur sobered, regarding the youth in a different light. It was strange to see a boy of Mordred's age this far away from civilization. It had occured to Arthur that perhaps he was an orphan who'd been sold out of his home village- a practice that he had outlawed in his own lands, but that he knew was still unfortunately common. The King didn't see how the wolf could fit into that senario. He considered the stoic teen. Mordred was a living contradiction. No explanation that Arthur came up with fit. Mordred was too wild to be a sold-child, looked far too young to be a merchant or a tradesman, and was, frankly, too cultured to be a wild orphan. In fact, since Arthur had met the boy-again, apparently- he'd been reckoning with traces of a familiar, decidedly high-born air to Mordred's mannerisms that hovered just beyond the reach of recognition. "What about your family? I could help you find them again," Arthur offered, secretly hoping that it might lead him to an answer, or at least a clue about his enigmatic saviour.

"All dead except for my mother... as far as I know. I haven't the faintest clue who she even was," came the strangely-detatched answer.

Arthur winced for both their sakes, not knowing which was worse, the lonely childhood characterized in their conversation, or the depressing acceptance which Mordred habitually exhibited when discussing his own mistreatment. It was as though he never expected anything better than he had, and considering what they'd just gone through, that thought actually made the King feel rather angry.

"You must have people..." Arthur trailed off, seeing the look in Mordred's eyes.

"They were killed," he replied with an odd tilt to his voice. It wasn't exactly accusing, but there was an insinuation as if Arthur should've known.

Maybe he should have. He didn't remember. Arthur looked away towards the icy path behind them, trying not to let his irrational urge to punch something show.

Mordred watched him and favored him with a faint smile. "Truly, Sire. It is kind of you to try, but I can find my own way." He waited until the King's eyes met his again before concluding, "You owe me nothing."

Arthur strongly disagreed, but he kept quiet. It didn't seem like the boy was likely to trust him yet. He didn't blame Mordred for that, either.

* * *

*for the reader's information: according to my research, in Old English: Aglæcan means warrior, monster, or fearsome. Durwyn means dear friend or even in later use a friend of deer.

In my mind Durwyn is typically one of Morgana's relatively easy-going wolves, but she has an inexplicable hatred of Sir Gwaine :-)

 **A/N:** Ok guys, thanks for reading. I was having trouble uploading this(the formatting kept getting reset) but I've done my best to fix it. Hopefully I've succeeded. Special thanks to _catherine10_ and _Agana of the night_ for taking the time to review. Seriously guys, feedback really smooths out the process, I love hearing from you.


	5. Wicked Dealings

**Chapter 4: Wicked Dealings**

"Honestly, he never took the hint! You should've seen the look on Mordred's face when she kissed him! It'd drive a doe to envy!" Ragnor chuckled at the memory, drawing a faint smile from his captor too, despite their gloomy surroundings.

The cell door was pushed open by a uniquely massive silhouette. "Lady Morgana."

Morgana pushed herself away from the wall to glare at her trusted Knight. "I told you that I did not wish to be disturbed!"

"Your wolves have returned. It appears as though they were sent back in pairs."

Morgana let out a huff and walked over to face the open door, peering past Melwas. "Aglæcan, come!"

The wolf trotted up to sit on the step before her, watching his Mistress expectantly.

Morgana lowered to her knees to face the wolf, mouthing the well-practiced spell that she cast in her mind in order to commune with her pack. "I should have known. They're headed back towards Annis' lands. They're bringing Mordred with them."

"My Lady, I must remind you: we are in no state to challenge anyone. It would be best if we moved on," Melwas said in a muted tone. "Perhaps later an opportunity will arise, but-"

"Caerleon?" Ragnor asked, keeping his eyes glued to the wolf. Morgana looked back at him, slowly rising to her feet. "You spoke of Queen Annis, am I right?"

"Yes," Morgana confirmed, watching him with interest. "What of it?"

A smug grin spread over the slaver's battered face. "Opportunity has already presented itself. That is, if you have a local connection..."

* * *

"I spy with my little eye, something that is..." the cart jolted and Merlin paused to catch himself on Arthur's sleeve. Arthur grabbed his arm reflexively, figuring that his clumsy servant was likely to fall out the back without help.

"Were you going to say green again?" Mordred guessed, picking up his dropped knife to resume whittling.

"No..." Merlin answered unconvincingly. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

Mordred eyed the man seated across from him, noting his obvious discomfort. He stopped whittling and tucked the knife back into his boot.

"Were you spying another tree?" Arthur continued the freed slave's former train of thought.

"No, Arthur, I was not spying a tree again. You two are terrible at this game," Merlin complained. "No fun whatsoever."

"I don't know. I'm enjoying it," Arthur countered, playfully nudging his servant's arm. The cart slowed to a halt and Merlin popped up onto his knees to see what was going on up front.

"We've reached the city gates," he observed, settling back down on his pile of mats.

Mordred set his woodcarving down in the wagon bed and jumped out of the cart, vanishing around the side before either of them could react.

"Wait! Mordred," Arthur called after him, but it was pointless and he knew it. "Damn stubborn... Help me up."

"You should be resting," Merlin protested.

"I have been resting for long enough, _Mer_ lin. Help me up."

Merlin surrendered and hopped down, helping Arthur out of the cart. Arthur gave him a grateful pat on the arm and strode off after Mordred. He caught up to him round the front where he was having a polite disagreement with Sir Gwaine. Well, Mordred was being polite.

"We've been over this, Mordred, I'm not letting the bloody wolf out!"

"With all due respect, my Lord, I am leaving you at the gate," Mordred reasoned, looking anxious to get this over with.

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yes, and even if he weren't thoroughly trained, Bran can hardly threaten you once we are both gone."

"Mordred?" Arthur said, more to make his presence known than to ask a true question.

"Sire, may I please have my pet back? We won't trouble you any longer," Mordred assured, walking over to face the King with one hand leaning on the cage.

"Don't poke your fingers in," Gwaine muttered irritably.

"I've told you Mordred, you are always welcome in Camelot." Arthur watched the graceful, silver wolf lift his head and calmly lick his master's fingers. The wolf appeared to be more bored than dangerous. Mordred was giving the King a very potent pleading look with big, dewy blue eyes when Arthur shifted his gaze back at him. "Unlock the cage, Sir Gwaine," Arthur relented.

Gwaine grumbled unhappily while he complied, not at all pleased with his King's decision.

"Thank you, Sire," Mordred acknowledged with a pleased glint in his eye, dropping to his knees so that he could greet the joyful canine properly the instant that Bran leapt out of the cage. Gwaine turned to regard Arthur with a meaningful look.

"A word in private, Princess?"

Arthur nodded but hesitated to follow, watching Mordred wrestle his wolf's slobbering tongue away from his face. Arthur already understood why his unruly knight was displeased with him this time. He also didn't want to leave lest Mordred slip away before he could try to talk him out of it. Arthur turned and followed Sir Gwaine out of earshot, doing his best to keep the boy in sight as much as possible.

"Is there a problem, Sir Gwaine?"

"You're not really letting him go now, are you?" Gwaine interrogated.

"Mordred's a free man. If he wants to part ways with us at the edge of town, I can't stop him," Arthur replied.

"He's a barely a man, and he'll have a target on his back now that he's helped us. There is no telling what Morgana will do to him once she finds him."

"If she finds him," Arthur amended, trying not to think about the odds.

" _When_ she finds him," Gwaine insisted. "You and I both know that the witch has spies everywhere. Probably the only reason why she even let him get this far was because he's traveling with a group of knights. We're all still too close to her land. The moment that any one of us wanders off alone they become her prey."

Arthur tried to keep his calm front up, but it was already beginning to falter. He looked back at Mordred, then away at the rocky landscape, before admitting, "I have tried to reason with him, and I plan to try again if he gives me the chance," he reluctantly met Sir Gwaine's eye. "He isn't one of my subjects. I cannot order him to stay."

Gwaine glared at the ground, trying to think of a valid argument.

"If you have any better ideas..?" Arthur offered.

"Shove him in the cage?"

"I didn't think so," Arthur concluded and walked over to rejoin the boy and his wolf.

Mordred let his hand fall away from Bran's head and stood to face the King. Bran sat down, watching the two men expectantly. A palace guard was riding out to meet them at the gate, drawing Arthur's attention right when he'd been about to speak.

"It seems that I will be leaving you in safe hands," Mordred noted, but there was something strange about the way he sounded. His tone was devoid of any inflection, utterly controlled.

Alarm bells were going off in Arthur's head but he couldn't pinpoint any evidence of a threat himself. He looked past the rider, and noticed a glint of chainmail and a swish of dark fabric at the gate. A group of guards were gathered just beyond the threshold. Waiting. Something was definitely wrong here. He turned back to warn Mordred away, uncertain of where this urge to shield him was coming from, only to find that both the ex-slave and his wolf had vanished. Arthur was surprised, but shrugged it off, shifting his attention back to the approaching rider. He had seen the tanned and stubbled man somewhere before, but that could have been at Queen Annis' feast when they first passed through her territory. He observed while Sir Gwaine stepped forward to greet the guard. The man's face was definitely familiar...

"King Arthur!" The rider greeted as he dismounted. His voice was rough, almost a growl but not an unfrienldy one. "Welcome back. We thought that was you, but we had to be sure, Sire, considering where you're coming from."

"I understand. We were hoping to be granted safe passage through your lands. I only wish to lead my men home safely," Arthur told him, still keeping his eye out for any tells.

"That should be easy enough. Although, I am afraid I must request that you let my men inspect your procession," the guard responded. Then in response to Arthur's skeptical expression added. "No disrespect meant, your Highness. We've had issues with some scoundrels causing trouble in the upper town. I've got strict orders to closely monitor everything coming in from the North."

Arthur sighed tiredly and nodded his assent. "Very well."

"We won't take much of your time," the guard said, beckoning more men forward. Arthur remained outwardly relaxed and complacent, but he had not missed the way the unnamed guard had not moved his hand from the hilt of his sword since dismounting. He exchanged a look with Sir Gwaine while the five guards spread out to 'inspect' them.

Gwaine stepped closer to him, speaking in an undertone. "Sire..."

"I know. Keep a close watch on their actions. Whatever this is we will let them make the first move. Just be sure you're ready when they do."

Gwaine nodded and slipped off to warn Percival. Arthur strolled over to join the unnamed rider at the back of the cart. Merlin was hovering on the other side, looking agitated while the burly man sorted rather recklessly through their cargo.

"Arthur, what is going on?"

"Just an inspection, Merlin," Arthur informed him in a smooth, if tired, voice. "Let him get it over with."

Merlin walked around the guard to stand at Arthur's side. "An inspection? That's what you call this?"

"Calm down," Arthur said, keeping up the leisurely front. The suspect men were merely shuffling halfheartedly through the smaller items, their true intrest lay in larger crates and crannies. _Spaces just large enough to hide a person._ A muscle in Arthur's jaw twitched at the thought of Morgana's spies reaching so close into his allies' ranks.

"But Arthur, look at this! They're tearing through everything!" Merlin objected, watching the guard's gloved hand tear through the medicine bag that he had managed to scavenge, likely ruining much of the supplies inside.

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur said through clenched teeth, turning to pin his manservant with a sharp look. He forced his voice to sound more casual. "We have nothing to hide."

"Oh!" Merlin comprehended, hugging himself as he petulantly relented. Arthur wanted so badly to slap his idiot servant. Instead he faced the guard who stepped up to address him.

"Well, this seems clear enough. You mind my asking what that cage up front was for?"

"Not at all. One of Morgana's captives had a pet with him. It was being transported in the cage as a precaution," Arthur answered vaguely. Merlin was looking at him through narrowed eyes.

"They aren't with you anymore then?" The guard verified, his gaze a little too intent.

There it was again, that inexplicable urge to keep Mordred far away from these people. "He decided to continue alone." Now Merlin's stare was really boring into Arthur's skull.

"Hmm, all right. Let's get you lot moving again," the guard walked away to direct his comrades.

"Arthur, what was that?" Merlin questioned, sounding suspicious.

"I don't know. They're looking for something. I can't tell what for certain. They were also avoiding identifying themselves."

"You think they're imposters?" Merlin guessed.

"I think that they are doing something they don't want Queen Annis to know about. They haven't even referred to each other by rank, or name during the entire time they were searching us. They don't want to leave any chance for anyone to link this back to them," Arthur considered aloud.

"Why would they be searching for Mordred?" Merlin's non-sequitur pulled Arthur out of his thoughts as the procession began to move.

"What?"

"I was standing right next to you when you lied to that guard, Arthur. You didn't want him to know that Mordred was here," Merlin explained, impatiently.

"Quite to the contrary, Merlin, I didn't lie. I was with Mordred when the rider arrived. I turned my back and he was just gone. All I did was tell that guard what happened," Arthur justified. "Mordred did decide to part ways with us at the gate."

Merlin stared at him with an odd look on his face. Arthur couldn't make heads nor tales of its meaning.

"Shut up," he finally said. "See what supplies you can still salvage from the cart."

Merlin smiled and shook his head, vaulting up into the cart. "Yes, Arthur. I'll do my best."

* * *

Mordred jogged around the outer wall with Bran trotting along enthusiastically beside him. It would be difficult to escape Morgana's reach without passing through Caerleon, but Mordred knew those guards had been looking for him. He had crouched behind a boulder to watch them. Although he hadn't heard them mention him outright, he had overheard enough. Somehow, Morgana had exposed him as the Midnight Thief. He hadn't even known that his old guardian was so well aware of his past exploits, let alone that she would use them against him. _Of course she will. You have stabbed her in the back. You're dead to her now, just like all the others._ That thought almost physically hurt. Morgana had been like family to him, and a part of him had still wanted to believe that she loved him too. _I was lying to myself. Morgana never wanted a family._ She had laid a trap for him, alerting the proper authorities that he was passing into town. How Morgana had learned about this weakness of his was a mystery, but her use of that knowledge only served to further convince him of the sad truth: _I can never go home._

Heavy footsteps marched closer up above.

"Bran! Síos!" Mordred whispered and pressed himself flat against the wall while a group of guards passed over them. The wolf crouched down in the tall grass by his ankles. The guard had changed their rotation and routes since he had last passed through. Mordred briefly considered whether he'd had a hand in that. Probably. There could be a ground level patrol joining him at any minute. Mordred took a calming breath and hastened his pace, clicking his fingers so that his wolf would follow closely. Relief washed over him when he saw the rusted metal grille he'd been looking for. "There's always another way..." Mordred intoned with a slight smile.

* * *

"Arthur," Queen Annis greeted as Arthur, Merlin, and Sir Percival were led into her Throne Room by her own most trusted Knight, Sir Allan. She rose from her throne and strode over to clasp Arthur's forearm in greeting. "I am glad to see that your quest was so successful."

"Thank you Queen Annis, I know that you have already done me a great favour by allowing us safe passage into Morgana's territory-" Arthur began but the older woman held a hand up to stop him.

"You are loyal allies, King Arthur," she responded with a hint of humor lacing her use of his title. "You and your men will be given the hospitality befitting such friends. You do not need to ask." Her expression sobered while she took in the young King's appearance and the tension in his manservant's stance. "Any more injuries I should alert my Court Physician about?"

"Merlin?" Arthur differed to the physician in training.

"Only three more with serious injuries, and yes, Sire, I highly suggest that you join them as well," Merlin dutifully informed the two leaders.

Annis nodded to one of the servants posted near the door, and he left to inform the local healers.

"I don't recall asking you for personal advice," Arthur remarked, not really that irritated.

"No, that was just me doing my job. Taking care of your royal arse," Merlin replied. Queen Annis ignored their characteristic banter while settling the immediate arrangements with the two Knights present.

"Oh. Is this what it's like? You're usually so lazy that I hadn't noticed." The King turned to face his friend while he spoke and there was a beat of silence while they both assessed each other.

"You need to rest," Merlin pointed out, again.

"You need more training," Arthur responded, before turning back around to face Queen Annis.

"Perhaps you might like to have a drink and discuss your journey while the servants sort out your rooms?" she offered.

"Yes, thank you. That sounds perfect," Arthur accepted, giving Merlin another token order to help the knights in the courtyard before he left. Queen Annis didn't push the reflective silence that had come over Arthur as he walked with her to the royal dining chamber. He paused at the end of the table rather than sitting and stared sightlessly at the polished wood. Annis regarded him interestedly.

"Is something troubling you?"

"If you don't mind my asking, your guards mentioned that you'd been having some disturbances in the upper town." Arthur accepted the goblet she handed to him, watching her pour their wine.

"Did they?" Annis' dark eyes narrowed slightly.

"Is there any connection with the villages attacked along the border? I thought it might have something to do with Morgana, seeing as it's only travellers from the North that you have been treating with such scrutiny," Arthur explained, noticing the Queen's unease mounting the more that he spoke. "I was merely wondering what had happened. What exactly are your men looking for?"

"There were a few reports of break-ins recently, nothing to trace back to the witch. We've already caught the man who's likely responsible. These guards whom you spoke with, what were their names?" Annis inquired, mulling the suspicious news over as she drank her wine.

"They didn't say," Arthur replied, studying the older woman's face. "They identified themselves only as members of your palace guard."

The Queen sat down facing him with a crinkled brow, turning her goblet between her palms. "I did not send them."

"Your Majesty... Is there something troubling _you_?" Arthur asked, pulling out his chair to join her at the table.

She gave him a weary smile. "There have been whispers. A powerful Lord from a neighboring kingdom. He is consolidating his power, enlisting allies within my court. I did not want to qualify him with my acknowledgement. It is beginning to seem that that was a mistake."

"You think that the rumors are true, that he means to invade."

Annis shook her head. "I believe that he is searching for a vulnerability that he can prey upon. My reign is still strong enough to survive some young upstart and his machinations..."

Arthur saw the meaningful way in which the Queen was eying him, and took another draft of his wine. "Those weren't the only whispers you've heard I gather," he remarked into his goblet.

"I do not judge you, Arthur. The crown can weigh heavily on a young leader, especially during the first years of rule. I know this better than most. Regardless, we both know that, without an heir, it is only a matter of time before your reign is challenged. This Lord will only be the first of many," Annis advised.

"I have plans of my own underway. I won't allow Camelot to remain vulnerable," Arthur declared.

* * *

Mordred stepped quietly through the dark passageway with Bran following close behind. The Druid was relying heavily on Bran to remain alert to incoming danger while he felt beyond the rows of bars on either side of them with his magic. So far they were bearing interested or suspicious perusal, but no one was about to complain about someone breaking _in_ to this hellhole.

A scruffy, strawberry blond man about Arthur's age looked up from his staring contest with his patched up leggings to scrutinize Mordred. The Druid stopped in his tracks and looked back at him, or rather, into him.

"You," he decided. "You're the new thief." He frowned thoughtfully down at Bran. "Then those guards hassling King Arthur's men..."

"King Arthur, a'ready? I mean, who are ya and whot are ya doin' down 'ere?" the Prisoner asked.

"You were hired to steal those things, weren't you?" Mordred inquired, bypassing the man's incredulity. The thief's expression was confirmation enough. "Was it a neighboring Lord?"

"Whadja think?"

"No one's coming for you. He's just using you to do his dirty work," Mordred flicked his eyes over the prisoner's wiry frame. He didn't have a trustworthy face, but he wasn't necessarily dangerous. A self-driven man.

"You're the otherun, yeah? The one 'oo refused."

"And you took my place. Arthur is his real target," Mordred looked around nervously. The other prisoners were becoming restless. "You know this isn't right. Help me fix it."

"Right an' wrong are noblemen's words. I might 'elp. Depends whot you're askin'."

"What was your mission here?"

"Draw you out. 'Is Lordship says ya're a loose end, wants ya captured."

"And Arthur?"

"I'd feel more talkative wivout the cage. You leave me in 'ere an I give you nofin'."

"You were sent here to frame and kidnap me," Mordred pointed out.

"Gran'ed, we go' trust issues. Offer me a bargain."

The Druid paused for a moment to carefully weigh the pros and cons. He couldn't just walk away, but this man was dangerous. He deserved to be jailed. "You must promise to do no harm to King Arthur, or his men. You will tell me what you know of his Lordship's scheme, and in return... I will sneak you out through the southern border, and pay you for your time in gold once we are free," Mordred explained, silently praying to Gods above and below that he wasn't making another terrible mistake.

"That dog o' yours 'ad be'er not bite me, or you'll be payin' 'is weig' in coin."

"Agreed. Unless you try to doublecross me," Mordred allowed, looking down at Bran. The wolf licked his chops and swallowed, as if in agreement.

"King Arfur's safe for now." The mercenary reached his forearm out through the bars. "We 'as a deal."

Mordred clasped arms with him then pulled the knife out of his boot and used it to pick the lock. He took his chance to whisper a spell while his new partner was making rude gestures at the prisoner across the way.

"Unlūcan." The door drifted open with a click. Mordred slipped the knife back into his boot and began to lead the way out of the dungeons. A few of the other prisoners began to make a racket.

"Typical innit," the thief sneered. He grabbed Mordred's shoulder and pulled him around a corner as a couple of guards came down to see what all the fuss was about.

"Gimme ya knife." The older man didn't even spare Mordred a glance, placing his hand between them in expectation.

Mordred's mouth tightened at the corners as he whispered back, "No."

The closer of the two guards was getting a little too near to their hiding place. The mercenary huffed derisively, causing Mordred to to turn his head sharply away. The man's breath was reminiscent of rotten cabbage. Mordred covered his partner's mouth as he looked back up at him, raising a finger in warning.

"Am I interrupting?" the guard quipped, pointing his sword at them, mostly the thief.

Mordred smiled apologetically at him. "You'd better shield your face."

"Huh?" the guard grunted right before Bran tackled him to the floor, knocking his sword out of his grip. Mordred pushed his partner away and stepped out into the open, catching the sword out of the air in the same movement. The second guard immediately attacked, but Mordred easily parried his thrust and returned with a shallow sweep, forcing his opponent back a step. The guard made to stab him in the stomach. He blocked it and lashed out at his oponent's shoulder. Mordred wasn't even bothering to hide his lack of enthusiasm, only moving to keep the guard from killing him without bothering to put any effort into a counter-attack. The escaping prisoner sneaked around behind the guard, headed for the stairs. Mordred let out an irritated sigh.

"Forgetting something?" he called.

The guard chanced a look over his shoulder. "Hey! Get back here!"

The thief ran for it. Mordred lowered his blade when the guard turned back to him.

"I can wait, if you like," he offered.

The guard straightened his posture, clearly skeptical. Mordred whistled twice in quick succession and Bran bolted after the escaped criminal.

"Ah! Ya son of a bitch!" They heard the traitorous blond exclaim.

Mordred let his sword hang, forgotten at his side while he looked questioningly at the guard.

"I'll need a good drink after this," the guard muttered, grabbing the teenager by his wrist and guiding him into the empty cell. He locked Mordred in for safe keeping before running out to collect his prisoner. (Mordred watches him go, then rolls his eyes, and pushes the not even fully closed door to the cell so that it drifts open. "I really shouldn't have done that," he reflects, striding out.)

Mordred crouched down beside the first guard, who was still being sat on by his loyal pet. **"I was never here,"** he planted the suggestion, then quietly crept up the stairs, pressing himself against the shadowed wall by the door while the second guard returned. **"You never saw me. You heard the prisoner muttering to himself as he escaped, that is what drew you outside. He disappeared. You do not know my face."** Mordredslipped out just as the second man was coming out of his trance. The guard looked back at the space behind him, but found nothing there. He frowned, but shrugged away the strange feeling that he was not alone. He thought that perhaps his job was beginning to get to him.

* * *

Arthur strode into his guest quarters with Merlin trailing in behind him, and plopped down onto the foot of the bed.

"I need to change your bandages again before you go to bed," Merlin informed him.

Arthur peeled off his shirt and threw it at Merlin's face. "Draw me a bath."

"Oh, thank you."

Arthur slowly turned an accusing glare on his smirking servant. "Merlin, are you saying that I smell?"

"No. I certainly wasn't saying it," Merlin replied happily.

" _Mer_ lin-"

"I'll get that bath started now, Sire," Merlin declared, turning away to make his escape out the door before the situation escalated. When he got to the door, however the deep, reverberating ring of a bell stopped him in his tracks. Caerleon's warning bell was ringing. The two men exchanged a look, and Arthur crossed over to peer out the window at the frost-kissed courtyard below. A crowd of guards was dispersing in search of someone... A slender blonde man darted out of an alcove, prompting the guards to give chase. He was an escaped prisoner most likely, but it wasn't the man who drew Arthur's notice the most. It was the figure he was running towards. A darkly clad young man with a blue scarf covering his face and hair, and a familiar wolf sitting beside him. The convict's face was twisted in a scowl as he hooked an arm around the boy's neck and yanked him out of sight. Arthur frowned, uncertain of what he should think or do about the discovery, and closed the shutters.

"Do you still want me to draw you a bath?" Merlin asked hopefully from just behind the King's shoulder.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, so yeah, I'm going to admit this upfront: I have Mordred speaking Gaelic to his pet. My justification for this? I wanted to show 'on screen,'as it were, that the Druids speak 'Druid' as they would, being a separate culture of their own rather than a cult. Unfortunately, the language usage on the show is somewhat scrambled, for instance: spells are spoken in Old English aka Saxon even though it's supposed to be 'the Old Language', so what the fuck are the Saxons speaking? Merlin speaks to his Dragon buddies in Homeric Greek for some inexplicable reason, and the people of Camelot all speak modern English; so why not have the Druids speak Gaelic? Anyway, that's my justification. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this installment. Special thanks to _Agana_ _of_ _the_ _Night_ and _SpiderPig_ for reviewing.


	6. Walker

Chapter 5: Walker

"Ah!" Mordred cringed as his head smacked into the cold stone wall. The mercenary had hauled him into a storage area of some kind, rarely used if the layer of dust was anything to go by. Bran was growling fiercely and baring his teeth at his Master's attacker.

"Get tha' thing under control now or I'll snap your lil' neck!"

Mordred nodded as best he could, still grasping at the hand around his throat. His attacker loosened his grip enough for Mordred to speak.

"Bran. Bi samach," he choked out and the wolf went quiet, but he was still baring his teeth. He was waiting for an opportunity to strike.

"I could finish da job right 'ere," the mercenary threatened, his grip on Mordred's throat starting to tighten again. "Maybe even take a sho' a' King Arfur, get double da money."

"N't y..." Mordred disagreed as much as he could manage without access to oxygen.

"Wot?" Walker leaned in closer to listen, savoring Mordred's pain. This man enjoyed violence even more than he had realised.

"N't yht." The grip around Mordred's throat loosened just enough for him to force out whole words, so he added. "You're meant t' ruin me."

"A'right ya've go' a point," the mercenary allowed, releasing Mordred. Mordred dropped to the floor gasping. Walker watched him unmoved, "You said ya'd ge' me out've 'ere. Can ya?"

Mordred looked up at him once he'd finished coughing. "If I do, will you kill me?"

Walker knelt down to his level, locking eyes with the teen. "No' if you're worth it."

"I guess that will have to suffice," Mordred muttered, allowing the man to pull him upright. "Anything else that I should know about you?"

"Call me Walker," the mercenary said, casually crossing his arms as he surveyed his unwitting ally. "You know they neva told me ya name."

"Nor will I," Mordred replied with a tight smile, "Walker."

Walker smirked in approval. "Suit ya'self, Lad."

* * *

Arthur sat in his bath, frowning at the water's surface and making a sodden mess of his bandages while Merlin bustled about in the background. The courtyard was swarming with guards, but they had agreed to ignore it. This wasn't any of their business.

"Looks like Percy's lending a hand," Merlin observed, peering out the window. Perhaps they weren't in agreement after all. "I would have thought that he'd be exhausted by now."

"Why are you telling me this, Merlin?"

Merlin flashed him a knowing look over his shoulder. "Because you wanted to know."

"I don't recall asking you to spy on people," Arthur countered.

"You didn't have to. You're wondering if this has to do with the 'inspection'," Merlin replied. Arthur backed down a bit, wordlessly conceding his manservant's point.

"It does, I just don't know why," Arthur confided. "Queen Annis warned me of a rival lord preparing to make a grab for more power. She thinks that he may have Camelot in his sights." The King tossed the wet rag to his servant. "Come here and get my back."

"Ugh," Merlin caught the rag before it hit him in the mouth. It splattered him with bathwater anyway. "Yes, Sire." He managed to make the word 'Sire' sound synonymous with the word 'jackass', before complying.

"In a strange way it's almost a relief," Arthur confided. "A part of me has just been waiting for the next challenger to make himself known so that we can get it over with."

"I assume you're counting Morgana as the first," Merlin verified, making quick work of his task and dropping the rag into the basin with a splash.

"I know that my life has been threatened in the past, but until recently she was the only one who threatened my rule. That's bound to change soon," Arthur reflected, pulling away from him.

Merlin grabbed a cloth for the King to dry himself off with. "They won't succeed, Arthur."

"You say that as if you know it for a fact." Arthur stopped Merlin before he could make another grand declaration about Arthur's continued rule. "Regardless of your faith in me. I would hardly be a good ruler if I didn't put the safety of my Kingdom first. We must return to Camelot as quickly as possible, so that I can prepare to face the challenge."

"You already have a plan, don't you?"

"Long term? I have been considering it seriously for a year now. As to more immediate concerns... It will depend on this lord."

* * *

"We're wastin' time. There a' guards lookin' for me in every corner of dis town by now, and ya wanna mess about in disguises," Walker grumbled, readjusting the hood of his stolen cloak as he and Mordred edged around a cart to avoid the two knights conversing with a civilian on the other side.

"We are not messing about. We are avoiding notice," Mordred corrected. The nearby knights were there to back up the two guards at the gate; they couldn't just make a run for it. It was difficult for Mordred to understand why Walker couldn't get that.

"You're naive'ee is gonna lose us our 'eads," Walker berated, pushing past to head for the nearest alcove. Mordred crouched down, tangling his fingers in the fur on Bran's scruff while he watched. Walker stepped back out of the darkness with his hood pulled forward to shadow his face. "Oi! You there!"

The knights turned to look at him. Mordred recognised the man they had been speaking with as Sir Percival. His grip on Bran tightened subconsciously. He didn't want to be responsible for any bloodshed, especially from one of Arthur's men.

"Dat's righ'. I go' a proposal for ya!" Walker continued, strutting forward as if he were the king himself.

"Sod off, Peasant," the younger and rougher of the two local knights dismissed. Sir Percival held up a hand to stop him.

"Lower your hood, and we'll hear you out," the roundtable member requested.

"I ain't lookin' for no trouble," Walker replied with the slightest upward quirk twitching one corner of his mouth, as he took a few more steps towards the knights. Mordred narrowed his eyes. That double-negative had been entirely intentional, and Walker was now within striking distance of Sir Percival as well as the older Caerleon knight. Luckily, the two gate guards had a healthy amount of suspicion and had stepped closer as well, each resting a hand on the hilt of their sword.

"There's a dangerous criminal on the loose," the elder knight clarified. Mordred was slowly unwinding his fingers from Bran's fur. His wolf was already coiled ready to spring having felt his master's agitation. "He's already murdered two people," the knight continued.

"You don't say," Walker replied. Mordred checked for his knife and found that it was missing as the knight pushed Walker's hood back to identify him. He swore silently, kicking himself for not noticing the ploy.

"Let's make it three!" Walker stabbed the knight in the side under the seam of his armor, then elbowed Percival in the face; while his other hand grabbed his first victim's sword, he spun to slit the closest guard's throat.

"No!" Mordred shouted, releasing Bran just as the merc moved to stab Sir Percival. "Gabh air." Mordred directed angrily, and his wolf brought the mercenary down before he could do Percival any lasting harm. Mordred made a run for the nearest servants' passage while everyone was distracted. Walker tried to push Bran away, and when that didn't work, grabbed the fallen sword. Sir Percival knocked him out with a swift punch. Mordred put his fingers to his lips and whistled once.

"Hey! Come back here!" One of the guards protested as Bran darted inside after his master, vanishing from sight.

"Wait! Mordred!" Percival shouted, hurrying after them.

"You know that urchin?!" The other knight asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. I'll sort this. You should see to your friend," Percival responded distractedly, ducking into the low doorway. He looked down either end of the drab stone hallway, shutting the door behind him. "Mordred?" Percival caught sight of dark fabric whispering around the corner on the far right and followed after it. "Listen, I just want to talk to you."

Mordred was walking at a swift pace towards the far stairway. Percival darted forward and caught his sleeve. Mordred's other arm reflexively rose to punch him but the knight easily caught it, regarding him with mild disappointment.

"Sorry, Milord. I mean you no harm," Mordred said, clearing his throat uncomfortably when the other man didn't release his grip on Mordred's wrist. "May I have my arm back, please?"

"Are you going to tell me why you were with the escaped prisoner, or are you going to run again?"

Mordred paused for a moment to consider his options. Apparently, it was a bit too long.

"Mordred, this looks bad. If you are innocent you'd better tell me everything now, or I won't be able to help you," Percival persisted. He really did like the boy, and he was having trouble imagining him conspiring with a murderer like Walker.

Mordred closed his eyes and reopened them, focused on lying as little as he could manage without endangering himself or Arthur. "You remember what I told you when Merlin and I were sitting with you at the campfire, about the people who wanted me dead?"

Sir Percival nodded, his forehead crinkling in concern as he released his grip on Mordred's arm.

"That man works for one of them. He was here to carry out some other task for his Lord, targeting your King but he recognized me..." Mordred fiddled with his scarf, choosing his words carefully. "He said that if I could get him out of Caerleon he would abandon his aggression against the King. Now that I have crossed him, he is going to destroy me."

"And how's he going to do that?" Percival questioned, releasing his grip.

"I don't know, but I did help a murderer to attempt escape," Mordred pointed out. "Now he has killed again. I need to leave town and you should too. I think that the thefts were just a ploy Walker used to place himself in the castle. He has been waiting there for King Arthur to return."

"You know that sounds a bit..." Percival trailed off, not wanting to risk upsetting Mordred even further.

"When he found out that King Arthur was here, he remarked that he had arrived early," Mordred stated. Percival studied his eyes seriously.

"You'd better be telling me the truth."

"I am." Mordred stared determinedly back. _Technically_.

"All right. Come with me." Percival led him back out of the passage with a hand resting heavily on his shoulder.

Walker smiled ferally at Mordred when they met back up with Annis' men in the courtyard.

"Ignore him," Sir Percival quietly advised. "He won't be able to do anything once he's back in the dungeon."

* * *

Arthur was awakened by a knock on his door. He looked up to see Merlin talking with one of Annis' guards.

"Is he hurt?" Merlin asked.

"Not that I saw," the Guard replied, seeming annoyed about being questioned by a servant. "The Queen requests your King's attendence at his first convenience."

"I'll let him know when he wakes," Merlin assured him, and the guard left with a curt nod. The physician in training seemed too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice that his King was in fact awake.

"What was that about?" Arthur inquired, propping himself up on his elbows as Merlin closed the door behind the Queen's messenger and turned to face him.

"Percival brought in the escaped prisoner's hostage. Queen Annis wants you to join her when she questions him," Merlin relayed. "I'm not sure why."

"Let's find out," Arthur decided, getting out of bed. Merlin rolled his eyes and fetched the clothes one of the palace servants had delivered for the King's use, while he was resting. Merlin, as usual, had gotten no such opportunity and was exhausted. It would've been nice to have at least one teeny nap before they dealt with Caerleon's criminal underbelly.

* * *

Arthur followed Sir Allan into Queen Annis' council chambers with Merlin trudging unenthusiastically behind him.

"King Arthur, your Majesty," Sir Allan announced with a shallow bow before retreating to stand at the door.

"Thank you, Sir Allan," Queen Annis acknowledged from her place at the far end of the table. She gestured to the seat at her right, opposite Sir Percival. Arthur stopped short when he passed the darkly clad figure sitting on the near end of the table with his face in his hands.

"Mordred."

"You know this boy?" Annis inquired, curious.

"We all do, your Majesty," Sir Percival admitted.

"He saved my life when we were captured by slavers, and again in Morgana's mines," Arthur explained. "Why..."

"He claims to have been coerced by our escaped thief and murderer into aiding his way out of Caerleon," Queen Annis replied. "A strange coincidence, is it not?"

"With all due respect, your Majesty, Mordred only arrived here with us this evening. How could he possibly be in league with Walker?" Percival defended.

"He did escape, somehow," Queen Annis pointed out, "shortly after you arrived here."

"The guards, did they catch a glimpse of his accomplice?" Arthur inquired, taking the seat offered him.

"No," Annis conceded. "They are certain that he was alone, yet they cannot explain how that is possible."

"Mordred?" Percival prompted.

"I can't explain that," Mordred replied weakly, drawing an amused snort from Merlin.

The others shot him a look.

"...Sorry."

"No, Mordred, I meant what happened in your own words?" Percival elaborated.

"Oh, of course," Mordred rubbed at his eyes before drawing himself up straighter in his seat and explaining. "It is as I told you before. A few years ago, some Lord wanted to acquire me for use in a scheme of his. He said that I had skills that he could make use of and offered to pay handsomely. I only saw him the once when he made his offer. I don't know his name, but what I do know about him is that he doesn't take refusal well. He sent his messenger to kill me with the ultimatum that if he couldn't use me for his ends, no one would have me. Ragnor slit the messenger's throat before he could follow through, but he wasn't the only one to come after me."

"Walker threatened the same," Arthur inferred.

"He told me that he would allow me to live this time if I proved myself useful to him. I agreed to get him safely to the border if he shed no more blood." Mordred huffed out a breath of a laugh at the dark humour. "It seems that neither of us kept to that very well."

"I'm glad that you didn't," Percival offered in reassurance.

Mordred gave him a little grateful smile before continuing, "He was instructed to wait here for King Arthur's return. I don't know why."

Arthur looked past Mordred to lock eyes with his manservant. "It doesn't matter now. We leave for Camelot at dawn. Whatever Walker's planning, he isn't likely to manage much before then."

"That animal you had with you..." Queen Annis considered aloud, eying Mordred's weary face.

His gaze snapped up to lock with hers. "Bran? I'd like to see him."

"You are in no position to make demands, Boy. I still have yet to decide what is to be done with you," Queen Annis chastened.

"Forgive me, your Majesty," Mordred apologised, looking worried. It was uncertain for those who knew him whether he was more worried about his own freedom, or his pet's.

"Where did you acquire...Bran?"

"I found him when he was a pup. Hunters had killed his mother, so I kept him."

Annis gave him a challenging look. "Do you think me a fool? I doubt that the Witch would allow one of her slaves to keep a pet, let alone one as formidable as yours."

"No," Mordred confessed. "When I was a child, before I was captured by the slavers, she used to visit us. She knew Bran. After I was captured she took him and kept him in the hutch with her own wolves. When I met her again she said that she'd been searching for me... I can't tell you why. At the time I was foolish enough to think that she had done so out of sentiment."

"And now?" Arthur questioned, wondering at his sister's reasoning himself.

"She used him to lure me into the hutch and lock me in. I'm not convinced that I can understand her reasoning anymore," Mordred replied, failing to hide completely just how upset he still was about that. He wasn't one to trust easily; when those he did let past his defenses proved unreliable it was hard to recover.

"How did you escape?"

"She made certain that all the more traditional means of exit were sealed off, but she didn't know that I could climb out through the chimney," Mordred admitted. "There was an owl's nest in the top. It was horrible."

Arthur hid an amused smile while his Knight fell into a suspicious coughing fit.

Mordred watched this stoically, then looked to the Queen.

"If you wouldn't mind, King Arthur, I would like to have a moment to speak privately with young Mordred," she requested politely, keeping her eyes on the wary teen.

"Of course, your Majesty," Arthur agreed, getting up and leading Merlin out. Sir Percival took a little longer, giving Mordred a pat on the back as he passed to show his support.

Queen Annis waited until the door had shut behind them to say "Well, now that they are gone do you think you can bear to let me in on your big secret?"

"I have not lied to you, your Majesty," Mordred affirmed.

"Perhaps not. Maybe you have twisted the truth a tad - that is no concern of mine - but there is something that you are not willing to mention in front of King Arthur and his knight, even if they are friends to you," Annis observed. "I know that look in your eye, I saw it on my husband a few times before his death. There is a weight on your soul. It will only become heavier the longer you hold it inside."

Mordred struggled with himself internally. Telling Queen Annis what truly haunted him was most likely a very bad idea, but at the same time, she was right: he needed help.

"King Arthur wishes for me to return to Camelot and become one of his subjects, but I cannot. I am too dangerous."

Queen Annis' eyebrows arched. "Oh?"

"Just before my fifteenth birthday, I met a Druid Clairvoyant. He was badly injured, about to be killed, but he spoke into my mind to warn me. I was born with too much power, I could be a danger to King Arthur if I do not find a way to change my fate," Mordred confessed. "That is my curse. If I must spend the rest of my days locked in your dungeon in order to avoid becoming that monster, I would gladly plead guilty to any crime that you see fit to charge me with. I aided a known criminal, I befriended the Witch of the North, I broke into-"

"Young man," Queen Annis laughingly interjected, holding up a hand to stop the oncoming flood of confessions. "Enough. I do not believe that you are a monster."

Mordred sat back in his chair and huffed. _I should have realised that she would think me mad._

"All of this because of the words of one dying Druid..." Annis reflected. Mordred scowled at her and she chuckled again. "No disrespect to the dead. However, you do know that a Clairvoyant is not a Seer? He cannot see a glimpse of what's to come."

"Yes. I know, but he was not lying," Mordred said, not expecting much from the rest of this exchange.

"An honest man can still deceive as one man rarely knows the full truth," Queen Annis replied. "Tell me Mordred, do you remember what the man actually said to you?"

"You think I could forget? That prophecy haunts my every turn."

"The words. Let us assume for now that this man had been told your prophecy by a true Seer. Do you remember the exact words that he used?" Queen Annis persisted. Mordred frowned at her, suddenly uncertain of himself. She continued anyway, not leaving much opening for him to answer. "Can you be sure they were the same words used by the Seer who made the prediction? Do you think that he saw the events as she pictured them? If you were to see a glimpse of the confrontation you and King Arthur had with the Witch before hand, would you truly understand what was happening?"

Mordred stared down at his hands trying to process this new, more transient take on something that he had always considered so solid and unwavering.

"I will have my guards escort you to your quarters, where they will assure you remain until the morning. If tomorrow you find that you have some true crimes you wish to confess to me, I will listen."

* * *

Merlin stepped quietly down the torchlit hallway after Sir Percival. He wasn't actively sneaking this time, in truth, but his worn, soft-soled boots made his footfalls quiet enough to seem so. This time the warlock was merely curious to see where his friend was headed, other than his chambers, now that they had the chance to rest.

Percival stopped at the outer door. "Who's there?"

Merlin sauntered awkwardly into view. "It's just me," he replied with a little halfhearted wave.

Percival looked skeptical about this.

"I wasn't following you. Well. I was following you, but not to spy on you. I-" Merlin stopped his rambling, well aware that the lack of proper sleep was affecting his mental processes, and he asked, "What are you up to?"

Luckily, Percival looked more amused by his verbal floundering, than suspicious. "They're keeping the wolf in the Royal Stables. I just wanted to make sure it got fed before I went to bed."

It was Merlin's turn to be skeptical, but rather than question the Knight's changing attitude, he asked, "Mind if I join you?"

"Sure," Percival replied, resuming his walk towards the stables at a more casual pace. "There was a moment when that wretch could've stabbed me. I was unarmed, off balance. He had me, dead to rights. I heard a shout and the next moment, the wolf had him pinned. Mordred and that beast of his very well might've saved my life."

"You would have fought him off," Merlin disagreed. Maybe he was just trying to reassure himself. Mordred was no hero afterall. He was a rogue, an unpredictable clairvoyant who might very well murder Arthur someday.

"You didn't see him, Merlin. Walker is quick. He fights to kill," Percival disagreed. "I wouldn't be surprised if that was his real purpose here."

"To kill Arthur?" Merlin questioned. That did have a nasty sense of logic to it, in more ways than Sir Percival could possibly realize. "Ragnor didn't seem particularly loyal to anyone. He hated Arthur."

"What?" Percival turned to him as they entered the stables.

"I mean, if this Lord wanted Mordred for the same plot..." Merlin considered aloud.

"Mordred, as an assassin," Percival said as if the thought were absurd.

"You don't know him like I do," Merlin pointed out.

"He's no killer." Percival walked over to the stall where they were keeping Bran. "Hey, Boy," he greeted kindly, and the wolf trotted closer with a faint clinking of his chains. "Look. He remembers me!"

"I see," Merlin said, eyeing the wolf speculatively. He seemed exceptionally shrewd for a wild animal, even one which had been tamed to some extent. There was a stable boy cleaning out the next stall and he leaned out to address them.

"Anything I can do for you, Sir Knight?"

Percival stepped away to speak with him about Bran's care while Merlin knelt down to face the animal on its own level.

"You're very clever, aren't you Bran?"

The wolf let out a huff, as if to confirm this. Merlin remembered what Mordred had told him back in Morgana's keep and very slowly reached up to touch his fur. Bran tilted his head a little to guide Merlin's reaching hand behind his ear but otherwise disregarded the contact.

"You know me." Merlin's eyes widened as the epiphany struck. "You trust me, because Mordred does."

The wolf let out a happy little sound to encourage more scratching behind his ears. Suddenly, Merlin felt guilty; if his interpretation was accurate, this wolf had been bound to Mordred since childhood. Bran was Mordred's familiar, and judging by the almost affectionate behavior from the naturally fearsome hunter...

"I mean a lot to him, don't I?" Merlin looked questioningly at the Druid's familiar, watching Bran lean into his touch. He was acting as though they were old friends. _I almost killed Mordred once..._ the warlock recalled. _I left him to be killed. Why would he forgive me?_

"I'm not supposed to trust Mordred," he reminded himself, but the mantra didn't settle his conscience anymore than it had down in the mines. Emrys confided to the wolf, "I'm not supposed to like him, either, but I can't seem to help it. At least when he was a child he was odd. He had that look, and that quiet power, that spooky way that he crept around staring at you without making a sound unless... and now he's all patient, and nice, and he-Well, you know him." Merlin sighed, only feeling more frustrated about his whole Mordred problem the more that he talked.

Bran looked up at him, clearly wanting to know why the petting had stopped.

"Percy's right, isn't he?" Merlin speculated, not expecting any sort of answer. "Mordred's not a killer. At least not yet."

Bran stiffened and let out a low growl in warning. Merlin looked down at the familiar just as the sound of someone stepping up behind him rustled through his awareness.

"'E won't 'ave the time," a gruff voice sneered.

Merlin whipped his head around to look over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of bloodstained clothes and muddy boots before a hand clamped down over his mouth, smothering him into unconsciousness. The warning bell began to ring.

* * *

 **A/N:** I know, a cliffhanger, which I probably do a lot in my stories. I'm sorry.I'm not sorry. Anyway we've already almost reached the end of this episode and I've noticed that Merlin probably deserves more attention. Apparently, that means a cliffie involving assault and/or kidnapping. Basically, I'm an asshole, but hey, at least I'm upfront about it. Anyway(didn't I just say that?) I still want to thank you all for reading, and give special thanks to _AganaoftheNight_ for the support and review, and _catherine10_ and the latest unnamed guest for their reviews. I actually use music alot as inspiration, to set the tone of a sequence, or as a way of remembering certain moments more vividly later, and I'm thinking I'll start posting a tracklist for this soon as a little experiment, and fun addition(if anyone cares). I guess it's almost like a soundtrack? I dunno. As always, feedback is welcomed and encouraged, maybe let me know what you think about my weird idea, or not.

... and before I forget, I should answer the question that I have no way of responding to directly(awkward) Homeric Greek is indeed what Merlin speaks in the show when he is 'speaking Dragon'. It is a form of Archaic Greek that was used in Homeric Hymns and Literature like the original version of the Iliad for instance. It's probably about as indiscipherable to a native Modern Greek speaker as Saxon English is to a modern Englishman. On a related note, language is crazy.


	7. Sir Mordred of Camelot

**Chapter 6: Sir Mordred of Camelot**

Arthur and Queen Annis looked up in unison as the warning bell rang for the second time that night. Annis beckoned one of her guards closer.

"Find out what that is about."

"Yes Ma'am." The guard left.

The two royals turned back to each other.

"You don't think..." Arthur considered aloud. The doors flew open to reveal an out-of-breath Sir Percival. Both leaders surged to their feet at the sight of the large knight. His arm was smeared with blood and there was a scarlet splatter speckling the side of his face as well. The guard at the door put a hand out to bar his entry.

"What happened?" Arthur demanded.

"Walker! He slaughtered everyone working in the stables! I tried to stop him, but-" Percival paused for a moment and shook himself back into focus, revealing a bloody patch matting the hair over his right ear. "He's taken Merlin."

"Merlin?" Arthur echoed in disbelief. His blankness wasn't so much from a lack of concern for Merlin's safety. He truly was concerned. He just hadn't been expecting this.

Queen Annis marched purposefully out into the corridor, barking orders at the three guards present. "Alert the knights, and get word to the gate. We're sealing the citadel. Walker is to be stopped with any force necessary. I will not allow that man to make a fool of us."

Arthur eyed the gash in his knight's scalp. "You may want to have the Court Physician take a look at that."

"That man snuck up on me. He was too quick! I was on the floor before I knew what was happening, and Merlin..."

"It's not your fault. Walker has escaped the dungeons twice. You had no reason to expect he would come for you," Arthur assured him.

"He didn't." Percival let out a frustrated sigh. "What does he want with Merlin?"

"I don't know, but I intend to find out." Arthur decided.

"With your permission, Sire, I would like to accompany you."

* * *

Merlin jerked awake and immediately flinched. His head was pounding and the biting cold of the room was making it so much worse. The wet floor was soaking through Merlin's thin shirt, and he was fairly sure that was frost burning the back of his hand. He figured this was probably a storage space of some kind, judging by the lack of heat or insulation. Water was dripping nearby and the rag tied over his eyes was half-sodden which was really annoying. Somehow this was all Mordred's fault.

A door opened and closed paces away, past his feet. Someone strutted closer to stand over him.

"You awake yet?" his kidnapper inquired.

"You're making a mistake," Merlin warned. As his captor neared, he could smell blood, seal oil, and rotting plant matter. So he knew that a) Walker hadn't changed out of his blood-soaked clothing, probably because he was planning to kill Merlin with his newly polished blade, and b) the merc had abysmally poor personal hygiene.

Walker scoffed and dropped to his haunches to talk. "How d'ya figure tha'? I'm lookin' ta send a message. See, I got a problem wif a crafty lil ragamuffin wot thinks 'e can foil m' best laid plans. I go' a good deal ridin' on dis job, an' I hear you're important to da little bastard."

"Arthur and his knights will be looking for me."

"Dat's da plan," Walker confirmed, patting his prisoner's cheek before standing and crossing over to the far wall. It wasn't far at all. Merlin guessed they were in pretty close quarters.

"You won't make it out of here unless you let me go," he continued.

"Let's agree ta disagree," Walker dismissed, shuffling through objects on a shelf.

Merlin blew out a breath through his nose and worked on gradually loosening the rope around his wrists.

* * *

Mordred was awakened by a knock on the door to his chamber. He looked inquisitively up at the gloomy grey ceiling of his humble guest quarters, then gave the door a sideways glance. The knock came again, this time a more persistent pounding. He got up to answer it only to see that one of the men Queen Annis had appointed to guard him was already letting the visitor in anyway.

Mordred had never pulled a shirt on quite so fast in his life. "King Arthur, Sir Percival," he greeted awkwardly, and moved to light a candle or two in order to illuminate the windowless room. At least the lack of light diminished the chances of his clan mark being seen through the thin fabric of his tunic. ("That was close. Even though Caerleon isn't overtly anti-magic as Camelot is, Annis' people are no friends of Druids," he admits. "In my position. It is best they do not have a clue about my heritage.")

"Sorry to disturb you at this late hour," Arthur apologized. "But Walker has evaded the guards again. This time he's taken Merlin hostage."

Mordred blinked, digesting the news. "Merlin?" The Druid couldn't help but wonder if his involvement had somehow caused this, not that he could share the knowledge of their connection with Camelot's King. "How can I help?" _I'm being paranoid_ , he reassured himself, _Walker_ _had no way of knowing about that_.

"I was hoping that you might have some insight into his motivation," Arthur prompted.

"He is probably trying to draw you out into the open."

"By kidnapping Merlin?" Arthur questioned skeptically.

"He was waiting here for your arrival. You are known to be fond of Merlin. More than a typical King and his manservant."

Arthur was obviously displeased with the idea, but he didn't refute it.

"Walker's master has been preparing to move against you for quite a while, Sire. There was ample time to learn your habits, and relationships. He will probably be keeping Merlin somewhere that he knows you will be able to find him, in hopes that you will come for him," Mordred elaborated.

"I'm not going to leave any of my people behind, regardless of rank," Arthur dismissed, angered by the suggestion.

"With respect, your Majesty, it is not Merlin's rank which is relevant in this case," Mordred clarified. Arthur thought it strange the way Merlin's name sounded from the ragamuffin, as if it were foreign on his tongue.

"He's right," Sir Percival put in. "You're the real target here. No one is saying that we should abandon Merlin, but you don't have to be directly involved in the search effort."

"I will assist you in any way that I can," Mordred preempted Arthur's oncoming argument. "We will get him back."

Arthur eyed him for a moment, running through a few calculations in his head before deciding, "Fine. Percival, I want you to take my place in the active search."

"Yes, Sire," Percival accepted, bowing out of the room.

"Mordred, you'll want to get dressed. You're going to be assisting us in the council chambers until we catch Walker," Arthur informed the captive teen.

"I've been confined to my chambers."

"Not anymore. Queen Annis has placed you under my judgment."

Mordred blinked at him, thrown off by the precarious situation that the Queen had purposefully placed him in so soon after he had confided in her. Arthur gave him a rough pat on the shoulder on his way out of the room.

"Quickly Mordred. We don't have all night."

* * *

Merlin waited for a chance to use his magic to escape, but Walker had taken a seat against the wall opposite him and he just couldn't risk being seen. The convict was eating a loaf of stolen bread while he waited for his trap to spring. The man was a loud eater, which only served to make the warlock more impatient. There was a rattling from outside, then a rhythmic thud as someone outside tried to open the door, only to find it blocked. Walker chuckled to himself and strutted over to face them. Merlin listened carefully to make sure that his captor was otherwise occupied and recognized one of the voices talking to Walker: Sir Gwaine.

"Bærne," Merlin whispered, burning through the ropes binding his wrists in a second and pulling the blindfold off. Walker was standing behind the door with his back to Merlin, hidden from the knights. Just as Merlin pushed himself up off the floor Walker raised the small crossbow in his hands and shot through the opening.

"Look out!" Merlin cried. It was too late. He heard a body drop to the cobblestones as Gwaine drew his sword. Walker turned to shoot his escaping hostage but Merlin ducked out of the way of the bolt just in time. Sir Gwaine and the remainder of Annis' three knights accompanying him began to ram the door open. Walker ran past Merlin and to escape out of the back window.

"He's climbing out the back!" Merlin called to his allies, grabbing the mercenary's legs and doing his best to avoid getting kicked in the mouth. He got kicked in the forehead instead and landed hard on his back just as Gwaine and the others charged in.

"Damn!" Sir Gwaine cursed at the legs pulling out of his reach, then yelled to the others "Get round to the back! Cut him off!" He smiled sympathetically down at his friend on the floor. "You all right there, Merlin?"

"I've had better days," Merlin answered honestly, accepting the hand offered to him. A rain of fire suddenly showered down over the doorway, lighting one of Annis' knights on fire and sending everyone else diving for cover. Gwaine and Merlin both huddled together shielding their faces. "What was that?!" he exclaimed, running over to help put out the flaming, thrashing knight in the doorway.

"A trap," Gwaine stated the obvious. "Mordred was right, he wanted us to track you here."

Merlin frowned, wary of the Druid's involvement, but he didn't have time to fret over it. He had a badly burnt man to tend to.

* * *

Not even an hour later, a snowstorm had forced most sane people inside despite the clues that were bound to be lost to the elements. Nonetheless, a dark, hooded figure limped over to the blackened doorway and trailed a leather gloved finger over the disintegrating doorframe. She held the dark powder up and watched it blow away in the wind, ignoring the dark locks dancing across her pale face.

Her green eyes looked down and she knelt to pull a chunk off of the crumbling doorframe. The destroyed wood was coming apart in the wind, coated in a drying, sticky substance. Morgana smelled it and turned her face away. "Pine tar." She crumbled the chunk in her fist. The Seer was in no mood for competition, not with her son's life hanging in the balance. She directed a vicious glare towards the castle where her brother waited and disappeared in a wisp of smoky haze, leaving no trace of her presence behind.

* * *

Arthur stood as a familiar-if even more disheveled than usual- Apprentice Physician entered the council chambers. Merlin was still wiping soot off of his face and neck with a rag he'd gotten from the local Court Physician and looked somewhat miffed to see Mordred seated beside his king.

"Merlin!" Arthur rounded the table to hold his friend at arm's length and give him a once over.

"We're you worried about me?" Merlin asked with a pleasantly skeptical expression, knowing that Arthur would never admit to it.

"Don't be ridiculous. He could barely hold you for two hours," Arthur quipped. "That breaks your record."

"You make it sound like I'm running off and getting captured all the time." Merlin's gaze drifted as he realized the inexplicable accuracy of the jest. Mordred arched his brows in subtly amused inquiry.

Arthur rested a hand on his servant's shoulder as they joined the others at the council room table. "Honestly Merlin, I don't know how you ever managed to survive on your own."

Merlin slipped into the seat opposite Mordred. "What are you doing here?"

"Assisting King Arthur in his search."

"You've found me," Merlin stated coolly. He just wanted the boy to go away.

" _Mer_ lin, not this again." Arthur face-palmed. "Mordred volunteered to help us. If you need some time to recover-"

"No. I want to help." Merlin placed his hands flat on the tabletop and flashed Arthur a lopsided smile. "What are we doing?"

There was a beat of silence before the King and his charge turned back to each other, continuing the discussion they'd been having when he arrived.

"It may be prudent to continue with your plan to leave Caerleon at first light," Mordred suggested.

Arthur huffed, his sneer half hidden as he stared down at the tabletop. His arms were planted on either side of him, gripping the edge of the wooden surface. "You want me to run away."

"There is no shame in leaving, Sire," Mordred offered calmly. "He is the Queen's to convict. More importantly, your departure may draw him out into the open."

Arthur sobered and looked over at the monarch seated at the head of the table on Mordred's right. "Yes. That's not a bad idea..."

* * *

"Here you are, Lad," the elder of the three guards assigned to Mordred's detail directed, waving the teen into his guest room.

Mordred nodded once, curtly and strode into the chamber, already unwrapping the kerchief from round his neck. The Guard pulled the door shut and locked him in. Mordred sighed and shrugged off his outer layers before walking over to the crackling fireplace. He stole a cautious glance at the locked door, then extended a palm to the fire.

"Adwæscan," he whispered and the fire snuffed itself out, the kindling going from hot to room temperature with a sharp hiss. Mordred appraised the inside of the chimney with professional detachment, nodded once in approval and went to fetch his gloves off the bedside table. "Thank you, Arthur. I couldn't do it without you," he muttered, pulling on the gloves that said thoughtful ruler had lent him. At least his fingers wouldn't freeze off.

* * *

The overcast sky above still presented strips of the orange and lavender of dawn as Merlin and the Camelot knights bustled around, preparing the horses for their journey home. Merlin adjusted the saddle for Arthur's horse and turned to address the sleepy knight passing by behind him.

"Gwaine, any news?"

The blue-cloaked blond at his side paused to glance interestedly at Sir Gwaine, ignoring his servant's neglect.

"Mordred's still missing. The guards told me that his wolf was freed in the night as well," Gwaine informed them. "If you asked me, I'd say our boy made a run for it."

Merlin looked back and forth between the two trained knights.

"I know that you wanted to reward him, but perhaps this is for the best. At least he's free."

The only answer he got was a non-committal shrug, then the blond seemed to grow tired of waiting around and mounted his horse without Merlin's assistance.

"Careful, Sire," Merlin muttered, his hands hovering conscientiously in case the King slipped. "You don't want to pull your stitches," he cautioned tightly.

There was a hooded figure watching them from a roof across the way. He adjusted his cloak so that it couldn't trip him up as he ran across the frosty stone roof and out of sight. The men below continued to talk amongst themselves while they mounted their horses and headed out. Just as the doors closed behind the Camelot procession a dark form fell past the sliver of sunlight still peeking through the gap. The guards were too busy discussing a bet they'd made that evening about the escaped prisoners to pay the anomaly any mind. However, outside the gates Merlin's eyes narrowed as his magic flared minutely in his core, alerting him to another presence. He looked back over his shoulder just as the dark figure vanished from sight behind a large, naked oak. He urged his horse to move a little faster and pulled farther ahead to talk with Sir Percival. The giant knight smiled politely at him.

"Good morning, Merlin."

"Percy."

"I don't know how you can look so awake already. You got even less rest than I did."

Merlin shrugged it off, edging his horse even nearer alongside Percival's. They leaned subtly closer together and he informed the knight in an undertone, "We're being followed."

"You're certain?"

Merlin nodded, rubbing at his eye.

"Right," Sir Percival acknowledged and pulled away from the group to covertly signal to the other knights. The cloaked figure tailing them slipped quietly from tree to tree, watching over them from above. He crept as close as he could without giving away his position. There was no evidence to verify it, but he was certain that he'd been noticed. Something was wrong. Their reaction didn't make sense. Their guard was clearly far from being dropped, but there was no tension. The knights' wariness was well-masked. He moved even closer to the front of the procession, climbing high up in the tree to get a better view, knowing that he was likely to be spotted. That was inconsequential to him; at the moment he was more focused on the fur wrapped king, or rather...

"Of course," he breathed in realization.

Sir Gwaine nudged the archer riding next to him. The younger knight revealed the crossbow hidden under his cloak and shot at their unwelcome shadow. He was already sliding down the trunk. Gwaine kicked his horse into gallop and chased after the man. The fugitive landed in a somersault that became a sprint as soon as his feet met the forest floor. The cloaked figure darted between a split trunk and kicked off of the edge of a rocky outcropping to swing up into a large evergreen and out of view.

The branches of the tree shook for a moment as the man moved around within, then they went still. Gwaine circled around to try and see where he'd gone while Sir Patrick rode up to take his place on the near side. Finally, Gwaine resorted to poking in between the branches with his sword. After the truth became apparent the two knights exchanged a look.

"Where'd he go?" Sir Gwaine questioned. Sir Patrick just looked flummoxed.

* * *

Mordred finally leapt to the ground once he was far enough away not to fear capture and yanked his hood down. He was still running back towards the castle to rejoin Bran at the forest's edge. He skidded to a halt in the center of a small clearing. There was an unfriendly presence nearby. Mordred looked around, hoping that he hadn't caught their attention. A dart punctured his neck and he pulled it out, blinking at it as his body began to feel heavy. He stumbled forward a couple of steps, fighting against the spreading numbness as the dart slipped out of his limp fingers. He fell flat on his back to see Walker stroll over and leer down at him. The mercenary stripped him of his cloak and gloves, and patted his cheek in mock camaraderie.

"I've been lookin' forward ta paying ya back for dat mess dat you almos' put me in," he tucked the dart away under his cloak and winked. "Now. I've got a King to murder while you lie here and freeze ta death." He walked off, calling back gleefully, "'Ave an 'orrible time!"

* * *

Arthur took another sip from his goblet and looked out his bedroom window. Everything was calm as usual out in the courtyard, the figure that he had seen on the roof when the others left had not made a reappearance as far as he could tell. He liked to think that meant the plan was working. He turned away and replaced his empty goblet on the breakfast tray that Merlin had left on the table. Arthur smiled to himself; some things never changed.

They had agreed that once darkness began to fall, Percival and Merlin would come back for him. Arthur grabbed the bread roll off his plate and dropped into his seat. This was going to be a long, and boring wait.

He read over the trade agreement that Queen Annis had proposed. He paced, read it a couple more times, paced, read, looked out the window, memorized the damn parchment, and decided that he had to go outside before he went absolutely insane.

* * *

Mordred lay shivering on the icy ground, staring up at grey skies through the forest's leaves. He had no choice in it. He could feel his limbs gradually freezing. His heartbeat was slowing down. A warm hand cupped his cheek.

"Look what he's done to you," Morgana's voice lamented. "My poor little lamb..."

" **I'm sorry. I-"** he began to project to her phantom presence.

"Shhh. You're not done," she soothed and he could've sworn that he felt her fingers carding through his hair. "Stille bearn, séo módorlufu sy gehield du. Wé álætee náht áwierdnesse álimpan hine!"

Warmth flowed through Mordred, replacing the hopeless numbness in his limbs with a vital sting. He sucked in a sharp breath as his heart rebuilt its steady rhythm.

"What was that?!" he gasped, then shook himself fully awake and stumbled upright.

* * *

Arthur pulled on a thick, woolen cloak, making sure that his face was hidden by the voluminous hood and crossed the snow-kissed courtyard. The watering troughs at the far side had frozen solid, much to the poor horses' chagrin. Arthur spared them a sympathetic look as he passed by on his way to the lower town. The Guard following him from a polite distance did not seem thrilled with this plan, but Arthur wasn't good at standing idle. He had to do something, so he explored. He did remain alert and ready for a confrontation, not wanting to depend on Annis' guard for his safety. Just as he was getting close to the city gate, a bolt embedded itself in his guard's eye socket. Arthur dodged the next and it hit the stall behind him instead. He searched the rooftops across the street until he spotted the cloaked figure.

"Walker!" Arthur locked eyes with the assassin. The other man sneered and began shooting down random bystanders in a silent ultimatum. Arthur let out an angry snarl and sprinted for the gate. Walker swung down on an anchored cord and joined him outside the city walls. Two more guards ran out to fight him, but the mercenary just shot them.

Arthur drew his sword.

"Ya really think a sword's goin' ta cut it?" Walker mocked.

"You're out of bolts," Arthur responded flatly. Walker checked his bandolier confirming that fact.

"Swords it is." He drew two swords from their scabbard on his back, one of which still sported flecks of its owner's blood. Walker smiled at his target.

Arthur sneered back, shifting into the appropriate fighting stance. They locked in battle both moving fluidly through well-practiced motions. With Arthur's shoulder injury slowing him down, they were evenly matched. The assassin was skilled with the swords, but he was impatient. A flaw of which Arthur was quite happy to take advantage. Nonetheless, he was tiring. Finally his foot slipped on a patch of ice and he was forced to his knees. Walker laughed.

"Seems fitting don't it? For a King ta kneel to the 'arbinger of 'is own death." Walker pressed forward a little harder against Arthur's block.

There was a rustling in the shrubbery behind him and a hazardously-underdressed and pallid Mordred stumbled into sight. He leaned heavily against the tree at his back.

"That isn't who you are," Mordred corrected.

Walker glanced over his shoulder "Ya really think-"

Arthur took the opening provided, managing to regain his guard before the counter attack. He sliced the assassin's arm but Walker kicked his knee and punched his wounded shoulder.

"Arthur!" Mordred exclaimed, seeing Excalibur fall from the King's grip.

"You can't stop me, Lad," Walker proclaimed, pressing his sword to his victim's throat. "I've already murdered ya! You're just too stubborn to no'ice!"

"Have a horrible time," Mordred said roughly, snapping the killer's full attention to him. "Bran! Gabh air!"

This time the wolf wasn't holding back. In a blur of silver, Walker was on the ground screaming while Bran's fangs tore through the junction of his neck and shoulder.

"Are you injured, Sire?" Mordred inquired, beginning to slur his speech a little.

"Nothing new, I think," Arthur answered, watching Bran stop tormenting his limp prey and just sort of flop down to nap on top of him.

"Good," Arthur's habitual rescuer mumbled, sliding to the ground.

"Mordred?" Arthur ran over to him, only to see the boy's eyes falling shut. "Mordred!"

"Hhmnh..."

"What did he do to you? Mordred!" He slapped the unresponsive teen awake.

"Ahhkf..." Mordred struggled to keep his eyes open long enough to scowl at the violent royal. "Hhh dart."

Arthur found and inspected the puncture mark, noticing how ice cold Mordred's flesh was. _Colder than a corpse…_ he brushed the non-constructive thought aside. Stubborn was an understatement. As far as the King could tell, it was a miracle that Mordred wasn't dead yet. He turned and called to the approaching guards.

"Over here!" Then Arthur pulled off his cloak and wrapped it tightly around Mordred.

* * *

Two weeks later, Mordred knelt before the dais decked out in his new knightly attire. The King and Queen of Camelot stood proudly before him while their subjects gathered in the hall around them looked on solemnly. Arthur stepped forward touching his sword lightly to each of Mordred's shoulders.

"Rise, Sir Mordred, Knight of Camelot."

Mordred stood and saw the King smiling down at him. He smiled back, a true smile, as the first traces hope grew in his heart. He was unable to run from his fate. The past few years had proven that. That didn't mean that he couldn't improve it. Perhaps, this way he and Arthur could be friends, rather than the Once and Future King and his Bane.

The court erupted in applause, even the Queen was clapping. Mordred was a bit thrown by that; after all, they barely knew each other. He was considering whether it would be impolite to inquire about until...

"Did Sir Gwaine just whistle at us?"

Arthur clasped his armored shoulder, correcting, "He whistled at you." He chuckled in response to the teen's incredulous look. "You'll get used to him."

* * *

Mordred strode out of the hall smiling wanly to himself. It had been a long time since anyone had shown appreciation for anything he did, or really since he was around people who cared about him more than just to use him in some way. He paused to take in the beautiful stained-glass window that towered to the high ceiling of the palace before moving to unclasp his scarlet cape.

"You know, if Arthur knew of your magic, things would be very different," a familiar voice remarked conversationally.

Mordred's fingers stilled over the clasp, and he looked back at the King's servant. He wasn't going to disrespect Emrys by pretending to be caught unawares. Each of them could sense the other through their magic in different ways.

"Here," Merlin stepped forward, already reaching for Mordred's collar. "Let me help you with that."

"Thank you, Emrys."

Merlin flashed him a warning look.

"No one is going to overhear us," Mordred pointed out.

"You shouldn't use that name here."

"Just as it is unwise to speak of magic aloud within these walls? What do you want, Emrys?" Mordred inquired while Merlin folded up his cape.

"I want to know why you keep saving Arthur." The older warlock didn't look up at him from the vibrantly colored fabric in his arms.

"I should think the answer would be obvious," Mordred commented lightly.

Merlin looked up to pin him with a piercing stare.

"He is a good man," Mordred clarified, "More than that, he is important to the future of our people. I want him to live."

"You were the one who followed us into the woods," Merlin accused.

"In order to help you. ...You disapprove of my choice to stop her from murdering the Once and Future King?"

"Morgana trusted you. She still cared for you enough that she was willing to kill in order to protect you, but you stabbed her in the back," Merlin recalled, stepping into Mordred's personal space. His voice cracked; going rougher and more reptilian halfway through, although what had caused that lapse Mordred didn't know. "Why should I trust you?"

"You led soldiers into my camp when I was ten. You tried to kill me," Mordred returned in a reasonable tone. "Perhaps the root of our sins is more similar than you imagine."

Merlin stepped back. His face was stern, but Mordred had seen the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

"I am here for you, Emrys. I hope that you can find it in your heart to give me a chance," Mordred told him, stepping around the more powerful magic user and heading out of the room. "If you feel you must betray my secret, so be it. I will not surrender yours." With those last words he strode out into the hall, leaving his people's messiah to ponder the moral quandary Mordred had left him in.

(Mordred smirks, "We'll let him stew over that one for a while. He wasn't going to tell Arthur anything, mind you. I just don't take threats very well. The truth is that he holds all the cards. Emrys could destroy me with a whisper, or a whim. But I know what buttons to press in order to keep him thinking it over. Emotion can be more powerful than any spell. Emrys will not betray my trust, because unlike me, he really is a good person.)

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, so the first episode is finally over. I've got the next episode typed up...mostly but just as a caveat my computer is dead. I will keep updating when I can. I Hope you guys all enjoyed this. The next ep will jump into Uther's return, dun dun DUNN! Also Mordred's struggle adjusting to life within Camelot begin so...Fun. Anyway, thank you for reading this. Special thanks to _The Hope Lions, catherine10,_ and _Agana of the Night_ for reviewing. Now, as I warn/promised a songlist for this... (It's under the translation.)

Morgana's spell: Hush child, the mother is watching over you. We will allow no harm to befall him!

 **His Majesty's Secret Songlist PtI:The Prophecy & the Bastard**

* * *

 _Battle cry- Imagine Dragons(Theme, sets the mood for both the opening sequence & the entire series/ it is Mordred's mindset distilled. Seriously.)_

* * *

 _Run Boy Run- Woodkid (Mordred's multiple escapes in the Introduction)_

* * *

 _If I had a heart- Fever Ray (Morgana dreams of Mordred)_

* * *

 _Faith in love-CSS (Mordred battles Melwas/ Merlin battles his conscience)_

* * *

 _Lord, help the poor and needy-Cat Power (Walker poisons Mordred/ Arthur is shot at from above)_

* * *

 _Who are you really?- Mikky Ekko (Mordred and Merlin speak after the ceremony/ Mordred reveals to us his strategy)_


	8. The Deathsong of Uther Pendragon

**Episode 2:** **Uther**

 _"I pick locks of thoughts vault_

 _Finding the garden barren_

 _The harvest fruitless_

 _Only the tree of life flourishing_

 _Wanting to take a bite but I'm toothless_

 _Is that predestination or is it by design?"_

 _-Illogic (One Brick)_

Chapter One: Those Whom We Have Lost

Mordred shifted fluidly through the movements that Arthur had shown him the morning before. All the other knights had experience in the same, or similar styles of sword fighting prior to being knighted, but not Mordred. He preferred to use whatever came to hand if he couldn't think his way out of trouble, and if that failed, use his magic. It left less chance of him doing something that he might later regret. Now, that he was a Knight of the Round Table, he knew that he needed to adapt to an entirely different way of handling himself. Thus he focused unrelentingly on catching up with the seasoned warriors.

His training sword moved smoothly through the air while the Druid's entire consciousness flowed to a point at the very tip of the blade. He was doing his best to recreate the motions that Arthur had demonstrated. It was somewhat off-putting that the King was not here today. He had been present for all of Mordred's training before now, only to disappear suddenly from the palace grounds today, along with Emrys. There was no way to infer what that meant. He could simply be busy. Mordred wasn't that important. So he banished the thought from his mind in the hopes that nothing terrible had occurred.

"All right, pretty good," Leon assessed, observing Mordred in Arthur's stead while the others took turns sparring on the far end of the field. "Hold," he ordered in the next breath, stopping Mordred in the middle of an upwards sweep of the blade. "That's close but you're overextending a bit. Here." He prodded the inside of Mordred's elbow into a less stressful position, then nudged his sword up a couple of centimeters higher. "Remember. You are always defending, even while you strike. Your head and your heart must be guarded at all times. Go on."

Mordred continued through the rest of the exercise, keeping Leon's words in mind with each movement.

"Better. Go through it three more times while I check in with the others. Then I'd like to try you with a few more weapons. It'll be good to have something new to show King Arthur when he returns from his hunt."

Mordred felt the tightness his chest unclench a little bit. That was all then. _No danger. Why would there be?_

"I wondered where he had gone."

Leon smiled slightly, taking Mordred's fidgeting as insecurity rather than the relief that it was. "No need to worry, Sir Mordred. You're making swift progress. I think that is the reason why he trusted you to continue without his guidance."

Mordred inclined his head humbly, "Thank you, Sir Leon."

"Three more times," Leon prompted, and jogged over to the circle of sparring knights. He thought aloud just clearly enough for Mordred to hear, "We'll all probably have to pay for this latest uneventful hunt." After all, nothing ever really came of those outings with Merlin there clumsily scaring off all their quarry.

* * *

In the sunlit forest, a scream broke through the crisp air. Merlin briefly tried to convince himself that it had just been a shrill-sounding bird, but then there was Arthur running off to investigate with his sword at the ready. Merlin shrugged, exasperated.

"It's never just a bird," he lamented, leading their horses off the path and tying their leads to a nearby tree before he darted after his reckless best friend. The villagers nearby were all gathered around a pyre, with a terrified old woman tied to a post at the center. Arthur darted out of the trees without hesitation when he saw the man at the front of the crowd was moving to light it with his torch.

"Let the woman go!" Arthur ordered. The terrified woman looked at him with the barest glimmer of hope in her ancient eyes.

"This woman has been sentenced to death. What concern is it of yours?" The man with the torch asked, turning to face them instead of lighting the pyre. Merlin was willing to consider that a win, although he would have felt more comfortable if Arthur hadn't just sheathed his sword.

"I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, and your village is in my lands," Arthur informed him.

"Her sorcery has brought sickness, and suffering to this entire village," the man with the torch countered. He was talking to the gathered crowd as much as he was to King Arthur.

"Did she receive a fair trial?" Arthur inquired sensibly, overlooking the man's showboating.

"Your father would've shown her no mercy!" the man snapped. The comparison prompted Arthur's level gaze to turn chilly as the northern mountains in an instant, even if he retained an admirable level of self-control.

"I'm not my father. Now cut her down."

Merlin was feeling kind of proud of him in that moment. This was a far cry from the prejudiced and impatient young Prince whom he had first met all those years ago.

"I will not endanger all who live here!" the man shouted and tried to light the pyre with his torch. Merlin flinched. With a telltale ring of metal on metal, Arthur drew his sword and blocked the would-be-killer's progress with expert speed.

"I said: cut her down," the King repeated in the same patient, unwavering tone as he had used up until now, but the point of his sword moving to linger over the older man's throat made the alternative crystal clear.

* * *

With a soft thump, the third throwing-knife embedded itself in the fourth ring of the target. Mordred's brow knitted together in frustration. He hadn't gotten a single knife to land in the center. Living without spell-casting was going to be a lot harder than he'd previously thought.

"Wow," Sir Patrick sneered. He was the second youngest knight, a twenty-year-old son of a Lord from one of the houses allied with Camelot. He wasn't particularly fond of Sir Mordred, feeling that he himself was far more deserving of Mordred's seat at the Round Table. Mordred squinted at the smirking young Lord through the corner of his eye. He wasn't likely to hear the end of this anytime soon. Sir Leon placed a hand on Mordred's shoulder, having noticed the dirty look that the usually angelic teen directed at the other novice.

"Well... Now at least we know that you need to work on your aim," he supposed, trying to put a positive spin on Mordred's failure. "Training is almost over. Why don't you practice this until the others finish up?"

Mordred gave a curt nod, glaring accusingly at the target.

"This'll be brilliant," Sir Patrick mocked.

"Sir Patrick, come. Let's see that last sequence again," Leon commanded on his way back out onto the grass. Mordred barely even registered the other novice's bitter grumble about not being able to 'enjoy the show'. He was too busy retrieving throwing knives out of the wooden target. He stayed there practicing until Leon and most of the others had changed out of their armor.

"You can stop anytime you want. We'll start again next training after we're finished doing drills," Leon reminded him as they prepared to depart, giving the boy a friendly pat on the arm. Mordred nodded and continued throwing knives. He always waited for the others to leave before changing anyway, so no one much cared, except...

"Wolf boy!" Sir Patrick pounced on him from behind and ruffled up the younger knight's hair. Mordred's last throw went wide as a result, missing the target altogether and bouncing off the stone wall behind. "Haha! You have terrible aim."

Mordred pulled out of his grip. "That was dangerous," he admonished, keeping his voice level.

"As if you were going to hit anything." Sir Patrick waited for him to flatten his tousled curls back down into a more respectable position, then frizzed them back up again. They ended up with Mordred struggling to extricate himself from a headlock. Sir Patrick let him struggle unsuccessfully to escape for a few seconds, then got bored and pulled Mordred's chainmail up in the back like a too-short hood and jogged off laughing. Mordred glared after him while he tried and failed to right his bunched up undershirt. He knew all too well why the other knight-in-training envied him. In Patrick's mind, his swift induction into the King's inner circle was an insult. Patrick was a Lord and Mordred was just some boy, yet he was preferred. Mordred took a deep breath, trying to shed his irritable mood, then stalked off to the far corner of the changing area. It was past time to go, anyway. The others had gotten plenty of time to file out ahead of him.

His favorite shirt, the sky blue one that he'd only just gotten for himself a couple weeks ago, now had a long, L-shaped tear running across the back. Mordred let out a heavy sigh and tossed it away onto a nearby bench, leaning forward to let his forehead thump against the cupboard door that he was facing. _Typical_. Mordred was just reaching for his clean, less-damaged tunic when he heard someone behind him, and whirled around.

"Whoa, Mordred!" Percival put up his hands in a placating gesture. "It's just... me."

"Percy," Mordred held his shirt up to hide his chest but it was already too late. The other knight had spotted his tattoo.

"Is that a Druid marking?"

"Er..." Mordred paused for a beat then put his tunic on, clearing his throat before he answered. "Yes?"

Percival gave him a funny look.

"I- I didn't think that anyone else was still here," Mordred stammered, running a hand through his hair. He was momentarily distracted by the discovery of a piece of sticky, candied juniper berry, no doubt left behind by the other novice. _He probably thought that was funny, the tit!_

"Yeah, I er- Gwaine left this out on the field," Percival held up the staff he'd been carrying past.

"Right," Mordred turned back, grabbing the rest of his clothes and making a swift exit. He couldn't think of the right thing to say. Percival had been disturbed by the discovery of his marking. Mordred had felt him recoil at the sight of it, which kind of hurt. The blond behemoth had been the first knight besides Arthur truly to accept Mordred, treating him like a new little brother despite the unusual circumstances of his recruitment. The Druid should have known better than to think that he could hide. He should have planned this better.

"Mordred..." Percival called after him, uncertain, but the boy was already slipping out the door.

* * *

Out in the forest, Arthur lit a campfire to keep them warm while Merlin fussed over the ailing old woman they had rescued. The manservant looked grave as he walked over to speak with his King.

"What is it?"

"She's very weak. I doubt that she'll make it through the night," Merlin reported in a muted voice.

Arthur nodded, following him back over to the woman's side. "Make her as comfortable as you can."

Merlin nodded. Their patient snapped awake and grabbed Arthur's wrist, causing both of them to jump.

"Thank you," she breathed.

Arthur took her hand in both of his. "Just try and get some rest."

The old woman shook her head, working to breathe. "Wh' you've… lived long… as I, you no longer fear… the journey…the next world. I've a gift... for you." She reached out with a shaking hand and pulled a cloth-wrapped parcel out of her cloak, passing it to Arthur. "You showed…kindness… compassion… qualities…f'a true king... Open it..."

Arthur carefully unwound the fine cloth, revealing the gilded horn underneath. "It's beautiful."

"Has the power… to s-summon…spirits of th-dead," she explained, struggling to breathe. After a few more ragged gasps, she was gone. Arthur and Merlin exchanged solemn looks and Arthur carefully rewrapped the relic and tucked it away in his saddle bag. If what the old crone said was true, this horn was a powerful instrument of magic.

When they arrived back at Camelot's palace the next morning, Merlin and Arthur went straight to Gaius, who confirmed their suspicions.

"The horn of Cathbad. It is a powerful relic," he said, holding the instrument up to study the etchings over its surface in the light streaming in through the window. "When Uther attacked the Isle of the Blessed, the horn was smuggled out before the temple fell. It hasn't been heard of since."

"The old woman said that it could be used to open a door to the spirit world," Arthur recalled.

"I have seen it with my own eyes," Gaius admitted. "Long before the time of the Great Purge, I took part in such ceremonies. Each year at Beltane, the High Priestesses would gather at the Great Stones of Nemeton, and summon the spirits of their ancestors." He passed the horn back to Arthur. "It holds powerful magic. You must keep it safe."

* * *

Mordred had just returned from the most boring peacekeeping endeavor that he had ever had to endure. Some self-important old Baron had been abusing the local Tavern keeper's hospitality, and somehow that meant that he and Sir Elyan had to sort them out. Mordred still wasn't clear on why. Perhaps he was being punished for something? Regardless, he was certain that Lord Redmelon-yes, seriously- was not only the slowest talker the teenager had ever met but also the angriest human being. Mordred hurried up the steps two at a time, suddenly paranoid that the man might appear and spot him if he didn't get inside in time. Just as he was passing through the foyer towards the far staircase a man's hand grabbed his shoulder. Mordred looked back at its owner and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sire, you've returned from your hunting trip."

"This morning," Arthur confirmed.

"Did you catch anything?"

"Nothing. My idiot servant made certain of that," Arthur complained, then his expression brightened. "I heard that you could use some target practice."

Mordred's shoulders dropped. "Sir Patrick is still going on about that?"

Arthur frowned. "No. I was just talking with Sir Leon. Why? Is there something that I should know?"

"Oh, I thought-" Mordred paused to clear his throat, feeling himself blush slightly in embarrassment. "No, Sire. It was nothing."

Arthur eyed him for a beat, deciding whether or not he was full of it. "All right. I'd like to go try you on the targets, to see how you might improve. If you have the time?"

"I do, thank you Sire," Mordred accepted, heading with his King towards the training grounds.

* * *

Arthur watched with a thoughtful scowl while Mordred threw his knives at the target. They were staying closer to the center now, but the frustrated novice had yet to hit the center circle even once.

"Relax. You're hurrying," Arthur instructed, and Mordred did his best to comply. He hit the second ring this time. "Better."

"I don't know why I can't get this right," Mordred muttered as he retrieved the knives from the wooden target.

"Enough of that. You can't be successful at everything on your first few tries," Arthur pointed out. "Overall you're improving faster than any of the recruits before you."

Mordred stared at him.

"Well, I'm not including myself, naturally," Arthur amended with a glimmer of mirth in his eyes.

The corner of Mordred's mouth quirked upward. "But of course."

"How are you with a crossbow?" Arthur inquired.

Mordred shrugged. "I can hunt well enough. Ragnor abhorred nature, so..."

"Oh," Arthur sobered at the reminder of his young friend's enslavement.

"It does not bother me, Sire," Mordred reassured him. "If it was not for you, I would likely still be property. "

"I'm not so sure that's true…"

Mordred inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Maybe not, but I am. Would you like me to fetch the crossbow, Sire?"

"Y- no - wait," Arthur looked past his humble student to see Merlin coming towards them. "Merlin, nice of you to finally join us! Fetch us a crossbow, would you? "

"Prat," they heard the servant declare, before vanishing from view in search of the requested weapon.

"Idiot," Arthur replied out of habit before turning back to Mordred. "All right. One more time while we're waiting then. This time remember to relax, focus, and… throw."

Mordred sent the knife flying into the second ring.

"Good. Again."

* * *

Later that night, Mordred wandered into the Great Hall to join the feast already going on inside, fastening the clasp of his cape. He stopped at the end of the Knights' table, in search of a place to sit. He noticed that his usual spot was still empty, the seat to Percival's right. The older man looked up just as he did and their gazes locked. Mordred felt an uncomfortable buzz building in his head, and gulped.

"Sir Mordred!"

The Druid's attention snapped towards the source of the welcome interruption, with the near surge in his power ebbing at the sight of Sir Elyan's welcoming smile as he waved him over. Mordred was quick to accept the invitation, slipping onto the bench next to the Queen's brother just as Sir Gwaine started telling one of his extravagant tales. Everyone laughed along, as carefree as usual, except for Percival and Mordred. It appeared that at least he had not yet told the others about Mordred's little secret. The younger knight quickly became preoccupied with the head table, anyway. The King in particular. Arthur looked so melancholy, barely touching his food. It was hardly the response that one would expect from a king attending a feast in his own honor.

"He's always like this on the anniversary of his coronation," Elyan informed Mordred, leaning closer to be heard over the surrounding din.

"I thought it was cause for celebration."

Elyan sighed, watching his sister trying her best to cheer her husband up. "It is. But it's also the anniversary of Uther's death."

Mordred pondered this, watching the King excuse himself from the table and disappear into the crowd. It was difficult for him to imagine King Uther as a father, knowing of the man only as prey knows a stalking beast. Mordred was aware that all his enemies were real people with their own lives and loved ones. That didn't help him see the bond between his hero, Arthur, and the monster, Uther.

"Hey," Elyan bumped their shoulders together, nudging the boy out of his trance. "Not you, too. You've barely touched your roast."

Mordred looked over at the other knight.

"I happen to know that you love roast," Elyan elaborated, the unspoken question clear in his eyes.

"I'm fine," Mordred assured him, belatedly digging into his rapidly-cooling meal.

"No one died on you, too, did they?"

"What? No. It's nothing," Mordred denied. He didn't have many significant dates of that sort, thankfully. His singular losses were of near strangers, and tended to be overshadowed by the annihilation of his clan. "It's just, my birthday tomorrow..." Mordred murmured as an afterthought.

"Oi! Birthday? Who's having a birthday?" Gwaine asked, perking up.

(Mordred winces. "I should've known. I must confess, I am nearly convinced that Sir Gwaine must possess some preternatural ability to detect opportunities to get drunk. It is the only possible way that he could have heard that from his current seat." Mordred looks pointedly to the man in question. He is on Percival's left, three seats removed from the teen, on the opposite side of the table. "I rest my case.")

Seeing the other knights glancing in his direction, Mordred blushed and became unbelievably preoccupied with cutting up his roast. Elyan failed to hide his smile while he held up a hand to point down at Mordred. The traitor.

"Mordred, why didn't you tell us?!" Gwaine exclaimed.

"I don't want to get drunk."

"Oh, come now. We've got to celebrate a bit! You can get a little drunk," Gwaine enthused, gesturing with his flagon too drastically so that Sir Percival had to dodge to the side in order to avoid being splashed. He did so without looking and returned to his meal in the manner of one who is well accustomed to such behavior.

"That isn't necessary," Mordred quietly affirmed, addressing both the idea of a celebration, and Sir Gwaine's reckless gesturing.

"How old will you be?" Elyan asked, calming the mood once more. He was close enough to see the anxiety in Mordred's eyes.

"Eighteen."

There was a beat of relative silence. Mordred was amused to note that each of his brothers-in-arms had held contrasting miscalculations of his age. Most had guessed that he was older, but quite a few also thought that he was somewhat younger than his actual age.

"Eighteen, really," Gwaine remarked, furrowing his brow while he inspected the evidence. "Ah well. Old enough, I think."

"You are not taking him to the tavern," Leon stated sternly, once again playing the default parent of their group. Sir Gwaine alone was bad enough. The last thing he needed was Gwaine corrupting the youth.

Gwaine waved him off, with a grin. He was probably going to corner Mordred and drag him to the tavern tomorrow anyway, if the boy wasn't careful. Mordred made a mental note to keep with the group just to be safe. He might not be able to hide behind Percival- Mordred remembered why he wasn't thinking about that. It still hurt- but he knew that he could still count on Leon, and maybe Elyan. Who knows, maybe he would be granted a little good luck for once and Arthur would have work for him to do instead.

* * *

Arthur walked into the dark, silent chamber that housed his father's tomb, staring at Uther's likeness on the massive, stone slab. He stood there, lost in his thoughts for what felt like hours. He wondered what Uther would think of him, if he were to come back and visit now. As he always had, Arthur wanted his father to be proud of him. He had done all that he could to live up to the high expectations that others had set for him growing up. Not just Uther-well, mostly Uther. Merlin, and Morgana back when she was more his sister than his adversary, had both held such high hopes for him, as had so many others whom he barely knew. Arthur missed his father, despite the lingering anger brought by some of the lies he had uncovered after Uther's death.

 _The horn is magic. Father taught you that magic is evil. You should destroy it._ Arthur knew that he wasn't going to destroy it. If anything he would lock it up in the reliquary, but this last chance... _Gaius used it. I've known Gaius all my life. He isn't evil._ Arthur stepped away and headed out of the tomb. His thoughts were just chasing each other round his head in a loop. He doubted that he would reach a conclusion tonight. _Why did this have to come to me now, of all of the times? It's so unfair..._ Such thoughts would do him no good. Arthur collected himself and stepped out into the hallway, heading in the direction of the feast. " _It_ _happened on Beltane. The Fire festival..."_ Arthur remembered the damning recollection in his half-sister's journal. He doubted that any Druids still dared to practice such attention grabbing rituals anymore, certainly not anywhere close to the citadel. _Regardless, it would..._ Arthur stopped a few doors down the hallway from the entrance to the Great Hall. Percival was waiting beside the entryway, superficially hidden from anyone leaving. That was odd. The King wondered why the gentle giant would be doing something like that. _A woman maybe? No. That's a bit creepy._ Arthur's newest recruit strolled out through the doors on characteristically silent feet.

"Mordred," Percival stated, making his presence known. Mordred went stock still. Upon seeing this, Arthur stepped behind a pillar, too curious to walk away. Both men were acting out of character from what he knew of them. For one thing, everyone knew that Percy had a soft spot for the boy, and Mordred had followed after him like a lost puppy ever since he started training. _So_ _why_..? Mordred turned to face the larger man. His expression was completely blank. _This cannot be good._

"We need to talk about what happened after training," Percival intoned. His expression was also controlled, yet he harbored none of Mordred's tension.

"I would prefer that you didn't," Mordred finally spoke.

"I haven't told anyone-" Percival stopped short and pushed off the wall, looking frustrated by the way that Mordred backed away in reaction to his sudden movement. "Oh, just... What do you think I'm going to do to you? Druids aren't outlawed in Camelot anymore. You must know that!"

"Keep your voice down," Mordred urged in a carefully modulated tone.

That development threw Arthur for a loop. _I didn't know that Mordred was a Druid... or_ _remember_ _. He said that I- Oh! He's_ _that_ _Druid._ Suddenly, Morgana's behavior in the mines made a lot more sense. _Great. Now I feel old!_

"You're just going to keep hiding, aren't you?" Percival observed. "Even when you don't need to-"

"You were repulsed," Mordred spoke over him, his mask no longer completely intact. He looked hurt.

Percival's brows knitted together.

"I could see it on your face when you saw my mark," Mordred continued. "I don't want the others to look at me that way." They stared at each other in absolute silence until the spell was broken by a loud burst of merriment from inside. Mordred turned and began to leave.

"I'm sorry," Percival told him. Mordred stopped just short of vanishing around the corner, to look back at him as he continued "I- You're my friend, you know that. It wasn't you."

One corner of Mordred's lips quirked upward in a wry smirk. "No, it was merely who I am." He then turned away and walked out of view. "Goodnight, Sir Percival."

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, this update came along much more readily than I feared... I hope you liked it. It is the beginning of a new episode so there was a lot more exposition than I prefer but, what can ya do? (honestly, I'm just waiting impatiently until the story departs from canon) Anyway, Thanks for reading. Special thanks to _Agana of the Night_ and _The Hope Lions_ for reviewing! Feedback really does help.


	9. Beltane

Chapter Two: Beltane

The morning after the feast, Mordred was drawn out of his restless trance by a brisk knock on the door to his chamber. He'd been staring sightlessly through his open window at the sunrise. Now he frowned at it, wondering who would have need of him this early in the day. Whoever it was knocked again. This really was happening.

"It's unlocked," he called, turning to look over his shoulder at the opening door.

"Good morning, Mordred. Oh! You're up already," Elyan observed on his way into the room. He looked the boy over, reevaluating that assessment. Mordred had shadows under his eyes and was still wearing the knight's uniform that he'd donned for the feast, _sans_ cape. "You're still awake," Elyan amended, eying the wolf snoozing on the otherwise untouched bed.

"What was it that you needed?" Mordred asked pleasantly, ignoring the other knight's disapproval.

"The others are waiting in the courtyard," Elyan informed him, prompting him to look out the window and see for himself. "We have a little surprise planned for your birthday."

"Not Sir Gwaine, I see. That is probably for the best. It is far too early for-" Mordred transitioned into a welcoming tone as the man in question barged right in. "Sir Gwaine! Good morning."

"Morning, Birthday Boy!" Gwaine replied, sounding unfairly chipper.

Bran lifted his head to look at him.

"Wolf," Gwaine acknowledged, and the animal returned to his previous position. "Bloody hell, it's cold in here! Why've you left the window open? You'll catch your death, living like that with the weather as it is."

"The shutters are broken. The rain isn't terrible," Mordred dismissed. He was used to worse.

"I can see your breath when you speak," Elyan contradicted, pushing past him. Even in spring, the thick, stone walls on this side of the palace seemed to trap the cold in better than the palace cellars. "Here, let's have a look."

"It really isn't worth your trouble; besides, I've got Bran."

"Nonsense," Gwaine said, giving the nervous youth a friendly slap on the back. "Elyan used to be a blacksmith before he moved here. He'll sort it out in no time. In the meantime, you should get dressed." He sauntered over and started looking through Mordred's armoire.

"I am dressed." Mordred followed after him, peering over Gwaine's shoulder to monitor his actions.

"I know that you're a shy one, Mordred. No one cares what you look like. I've seen it all, believe me. These will do." Gwaine passed Mordred the sturdier of his remaining leggings. The thick, leather ones that he'd bought with his recent earnings.

"I would rather you didn't-" Mordred began only to be interrupted by Elyan's incredulous exclamation.

"How did this even happen?"

They both turned toward the ex-blacksmith, then Gwaine lost interest and resumed plundering the armoire.

"That bad?"

"It isn't just the latch. Have you looked at this at all? The hinges are stretched in the wrong direction, the shutters are sticking outwards now, and the latch has been torn clean off! I haven't ever seen anything like this before."

They both stared at Mordred, who shrugged.

"I did think that it looked odd."

"You mean the window was like this all this time and you never thought to mention it?" Elyan verified.

"Do we have time for this?" Mordred deflected. "The others are waiting. I'll just grab a shirt."

"They can wait a little longer." Gwaine turned to him, no longer looking cheerful, with a familiar off-white shirt in his hands. "Are you hiding something, Mordred?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"The window's forced open the wrong way, and I've just seen the two shirts you aren't already wearing," Gwaine elaborated. It was obvious that he expected to get a straight answer one way or the other. Mordred was both surprised and concerned by his strong reaction.

"I fell."

"Both times? Is that the tears or the bloodstains that you're addressing?"

"I tore my shirt during training. Really, Gwaine. You can't think that I am strong enough to force the window frame outwards like that. I'm smaller built than you."

Gwaine eyed him for a second, then his lips quirked upward in a self-deprecating smile. "Hey, we may be short but that just makes us tougher targets."

"He's got a point though. It would take someone of Percival's size and strength to bend the housings like this without tools and heat," Elyan surmised. "This will all have to be replaced."

Mordred grabbed a shirt while the others talked, and went to the far corner to change, keeping his back turned to them all the while on the off chance that they might look up and see his tattoo. When he turned back around, Bran had sat up, realizing that something interesting was going on. Elyan, Gwaine, and the wolf all turned to look at him in accidental synchrony and Mordred couldn't help but smile. "Ready to go?" he asked Elyan.

"Yes, but I'd like to come back later to inspect the damage more closely."

"Of course," Mordred agreed. To Mordred's welcome surprise Elyan paused in the doorway and whistled for Bran to follow them out before he shut Mordred's door behind the equally-pleased animal.

* * *

Merlin paused on his way to fetch Arthur's breakfast. Mordred was perched atop the head of one of the stone dog statues while Percival reclined on the palace steps beside him with Bran draped over his lap. The Druid held a faintly steaming pasty in his hands while they watched Leon and Elyan chase a cackling Gwaine around. He was holding a covered basket that they clearly wanted back. Merlin supposed that was where the pasty had come from. Merlin gave in to curiosity and sidled over to the two less active knights.

"What are they doing?" he asked.

"Gwaine went and stole all of the treats that Glenda baked for us," Mordred supplied happily, taking a bite of his pasty.

"For Beltane?" Merlin inquired uncertainly.

"For him," Percival amended, nudging the younger man with his leg. "She baked them specially this morning after we told her about Mordred's birthday."

Mordred blushed. He honestly wasn't sure why the old woman was so taken with him. It was sort of embarrassing. "Do you want some?" he queried in hopes of shifting the attention off of himself. "She made plenty of food."

"Well..." Merlin eyed the three running around the mostly empty courtyard.

"Gwaine!" Mordred called. "Let Merlin have some." He paused for a beat upon seeing Gwaine's mischievous grin. "Don't throw pudding again! It wasn't that funny."

Merlin repositioned himself on Mordred's other side, figuring that Gwaine probably wouldn't throw food at the birthday boy.

"It's your birthday today..." Merlin thought aloud, mentally weighing the odds of that great a coincidence.

Mordred nodded, distracted by Bran shoving his head up onto his lap.

"Er... How old are you now?"

"Eighteen," Mordred, Percy and Gwaine all answered at the same time.

"Here, Merlin. Quick, pick one before they try to take it back from me," Gwaine suggested.

"You are ridiculous," Percival remarked, snagging a tart out of the basket.

Merlin grabbed one of the pasties. "Thank you. I should go, I have to fetch Arthur's breakfast."

"Of course. You're both welcome to join us," Mordred offered, knowing that it was a longshot. Emrys may have been acting civilly toward him of late, but he hadn't accepted him yet, for whatever reason.

"We're riding out to the stream for a while before training starts," Gwaine supplied.

"I'll let him know," Merlin replied, jogging away into the castle. Mordred's shoulders slumped slightly, in response to the implied rejection. Gwaine was already locked in another playful scuffle over the basket by then, failing to notice, but Percival's brow crinkled as he quietly watched the boy's back. Merlin's unconscious effect on him had not gone unobserved, even if the blond knight didn't know what to make of it yet.

* * *

As soon as the door had slipped shut behind him, Merlin allowed himself a little panic moment. _Beltane! Mordred is eighteen, today, on_ _Beltane_ _! Just exactly the same as Morgana's son! He_ _is_ _Morgana's son._ Merlin focused on his breathing for a moment, attempting to calm himself while he fetched the King and Queen some breakfast. _Kilgarrah did say that they shared a bond,_ he thought wryly. _If that's their bond, does that mean that we might have a chance to save him? Or will that make him more certain to follow in her footsteps? Should I even tell Arthur?_ He paused outside Arthur's door, annoyed by his own foolishness. _That's stupid. I have to tell Arthur, the others are bound to mention it if I don't._ After his usual token knock, Merlin made his way into the royal chambers and set the tray on the table. Gwen was already up, standing by the window to watch the knights below. _Yep. Definitely have to tell them._

"Good morning," Merlin greeted on his way over to wake the slumbering King.

"Good morning, Merlin," Gwen said, smiling at the familiar battle of wills going on behind her. Merlin threw the curtains to the large windows on either side of the bed open wide. Arthur let out a grunt of protest and covered his face with his pillow.

"Rise and shine, Arthur!" Merlin pushed, just to be extra irritating.

"Not again," Arthur groaned. They had already had two separate talks and a heated, one-sided argument about 'rise and shine,' yet here it was again.

"Do you know what the knights are doing down there in the courtyard?" Gwen inquired, much more civil than her sleepy husband.

"It's Mordred's birthday. They're going to celebrate this morning by going on a short ride in the woods," Merlin explained offhandedly, hoping to downplay the relevance of his words. Arthur snapped fully awake.

"Mordred's birthday. Today?" He verified.

"Yes Arthur, today. Percival told me when I passed them."

"He was born on Beltane," Arthur said impatiently, suddenly eager to be up and dressed.

"What's wrong?" Gwen asked, watching with mild concern while he hurried to get ready.

"Don't worry, you're welcome to join them," Merlin assured his King sarcastically in response to Arthur's presumption.

Arthur paused on his way out to give his wife a quick kiss, not bothering to explain his haste - nor even to touch the perfectly good breakfast that Merlin had brought them.

"I should go after him," Merlin decided, following the King out. Somehow, Arthur managed to get down to the courtyard far ahead of him. Merlin suspected that he might have run, not that Arthur would ever admit such a thing. He was already chatting with the young Druid when Merlin caught up with him, idly looking through the basket.

"She's definitely fond of you."

"Yes, Sire," Mordred admitted bashfully.

"How old are you anyway? I mean, you were very little when we first met but..."

"Eighteen," Mordred answered. "I'm not sure why everyone is so shocked to hear that," he added more quietly.

"You behave maturely for someone your age. It makes you seem older." Arthur was covering his excitement very well, Merlin noted, especially considering who he was talking to. Arthur looked up, his brows scrunching together in annoyance. "More importantly: how are there ten pasties but only three tarts left?"

Arthur's question was answered by a chorus of "Gwaine," from the surrounding knights.

"Where's Percival?" Merlin asked, watching with a sidelong look of exasperation as Arthur used the dagger he'd only just polished to perfection last night to cut a sticky-looking strawberry tart in half.

"He went ahead to the stables," Mordred supplied a bit sharply, which was saying something, coming from the soft spoken teen. It was enough to startle a perplexed interest from the no-longer-preoccupied servant.

"Readying the horses, what a splendid idea," Arthur hinted.

"I guess I'll be joining him then," Merlin acknowledged with a tight smile.

Mordred accepted the other half of Arthur's tart and passed it to Merlin without missing a beat.

"Thank you, Mordred," Merlin accepted, walking away towards the stables. _Enemy or not, at least the boy's considerate_. He quickly stifled the unwise train of thought. Mordred was dangerous. He needed to remember that.

Arthur watched him go, waiting until the other knights were otherwise occupied to pick up his conversation with the Druid boy. "What can you tell me about Beltane?"

"Sire?"

"You were raised among the Druids. I don't know much about your people's customs."

"We used to burn sacred fires, and use them to relight our hearths for the next year. It was also a festival of fertility. Druid children are more likely to be conceived on fire night, rather than born. I am not certain what you would like to know..." Mordred floundered, scrutinizing Arthur's face.

"Gaius told me about a ritual that he witnessed before the Great Purge. He said that the High Priestesses used to raise the dead."

"That ritual hasn't been practiced since before my birth, Sire. It is my understanding that most of their artifacts were destroyed or stolen during the Purge," Mordred answered carefully. "Even if they did survive. They are imbued with such potent magic, I doubt that any surviving sorcerer would think to use them now."

"Why is that?"

"The veils that separate different worlds will be at their weakest tonight. It is not only human spirits that come to peer through the shrinking divide," Mordred cautioned, catching the curious ruler's eye. "Why do you think we used to burn so many fires?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly in question.

"To keep what lurks in darkness at bay."

Arthur considered the boy's words in thoughtful silence until Merlin and Percival came into view, leading their horses into the courtyard. "But if you could, if you had the chance to see the people you've lost again, for one last time and say goodbye, wouldn't you take it?"

"Is this about your father?"

"Excuse me?"

"I meant no offense, Sire. I know that you must miss him." Mordred retreated behind his practiced mask, leaving the King no clue as to what his true feelings on the matter might be. Arthur was fairly certain by now that it was a defense mechanism. _It's_ p _robably best not to push him,_ hedetermined _._

"No, Sir Mordred. No offense taken. I merely wanted to know your perspective on the matter."

"Honestly, Sire?" Mordred verified, his tone perfectly neutral.

"Yes, honestly. I'm not trying to trick you. Hypothetically speaking, if such a thing were possible -without threat of punishment," he clarified in response to Mordred's piercing stare. "Would you think that it was worth it?"

Mordred regarded him for a long, drawn out moment. There was something unfathomable in his sapphire eyes. He looked too haunted for a boy his age, as though his eyes were far too old for the youthful face that housed them. "Not for me."

"Mordred?"

"I live with too many ghosts." The Druid abandoned his perch, bowing respectfully before he wandered over to help with the horses, Bran trailing behind him.

Arthur watched him go, pondering the strange remark. _He's a Druid. How many of his kin have been killed in my father's name? How many of them have_ _I_ _killed?_ The excitement that he'd felt when Merlin informed him of Mordred's coinciding birthday was overtaken by dread. _If he is my nephew and this isn't some mad coincidence... How do I tell him the truth?_

* * *

Arthur remained quiet throughout their morning ride, content to watch the others' interactions while he thought over what to do with the Horn of Cathbad. It belonged in Camelot's vault for certain. Nevertheless... Arthur got off his horse and preoccupied himself with helping unpack. Then, after Merlin started shooting him worried looks, he finally wandered over to watch Gwaine and Mordred roughhousing with Percival at the water's edge. Bran padded over and curled up against the King's side, and Arthur quickly became lost in his own musings, absently running his fingers through the wolf's fur.

He missed his father. There was still this perfect image in his head of the strong and noble King. The man he looked up to: his father, Uther. Then there was the Uther who had lied to him his entire life. The Uther who had abandoned Mordred, or a boy just like him, at birth and left him to live or die never knowing his true family. The King who showed no mercy to the Druids. Who had hunted Mordred down, killed his guardian, and nearly executed him at the tender age of ten. That Uther was the Father of the Purge, the man of whom Arthur's enemies spoke when they accused the Pendragons of tyranny. He still couldn't quite reconcile the two in his head. He knew that he himself was no tyrant, and wasn't he the man his father had raised him to be? He thought that he was. He even hoped that he was. He didn't know.

Merlin was hovering cautiously around the periphery of the trio as they began to disperse. Mordred-the one weathering the brunt of the manservant's stare- was climbing up onto the upturned roots of a great toppled tree that stretched over the water's surface. Percival was sitting in a sunny patch a few paces away, also observing Mordred's efforts while Gwaine skipped rocks and teased him. The Druid was making quick progress over the formidable gnarl of dead and rotting wood. The log shook with each step that he took across it. His balance remained steady despite the tenuous moving perch, making it almost seem effortless.

"You climb like a squirrel! How do you do that?" Sir Gwaine inquired, throwing the last rock in his hand away into the water without looking. It plunked into the water with a skimming splash.

"Watch it!" Elyan protested from his perch on a couple of handy stepping stones.

"It's only water," Gwaine called back.

"I've learned through practice," Mordred answered mildly, leaning over the far edge to watch a loose flower floating under him.

"Practice. What did you do, grow up living in a tree?" Gwaine joked, kicking the log so that Mordred had to spread out his arms to re-center himself. Gwaine chuckled at Mordred's fleeting owlish look while he battled with gravity.

"I grew up in the forest," Mordred corrected.

"So I guess you really were raised by wolves," Gwaine teased.

Arthur noticed a subtle falter in Mordred's expression, too fleeting to identify the specific emotion.

"Just as you were clearly raised in a tavern," Mordred returned, his carefree guise fooling everyone but Arthur and Merlin.

Gwaine grinned broadly up at him and gave the dried roots a full bodied shove, causing the log to shake violently. Despite an impressive effort, Mordred fell into the water with a shout. Gwaine laughed and jumped back out of the way of the young man's vengeful attempt to splash him. "Your face!"

Mordred swept his wet curls out of his eyes, poised to strike. He looked over at Percival, smirked and darted away towards Sir Elyan.

"Wha-" Gwaine was too slow to follow his gaze as Percival marched purposefully up behind him, picked him up and dumped him in the water. "Ah that's cold!"

Mordred let out his best attempt at an evil cackle. It fell woefully short of his goal, even prompting his pseudo-nemesis Merlin to roll his eyes, but Gwaine got the gist. The true splash war had only just begun. Arthur smiled and shook his head, walking over to speak with Merlin.

"Come on; we're leaving."

"What? Now? We've only just stopped to rest."

"We have farther to ride today."

"We do? Where are we going?" Merlin inquired, skeptical.

"The Stones of Nemeton," Arthur replied, heading back towards their horses.

"The... You plan to use the horn," Merlin realized. "Are you sure that that's a good idea?"

"No, but this may be the last chance I'll ever get to see my father again. I have to take it."

* * *

It took them most of the day to reach the great circle of stone arches. When the Stones of Nemeton came into view Merlin could already feel the cold, foreign magic that flowed from the center of the massive circle pushing against his core. It was colder than any ice, darker and more silent than any night that the living Earth would ever know. The strange and restless magic clashed jarringly with his bright, burning heat. Its unrelenting silence canceled out the lively song that his magic sang in harmony with all the life around him.

"I have a very bad feeling about this place," Merlin cautioned.

"That's because you are a coward," Arthur replied. He was naturally oblivious to the nullification of his secret guardian's magic by an opposing force.

"No. I value my life and I don't want to die horribly."

"Fair point," Arthur admitted.

"So, are we going to turn back?" Merlin inquired hopefully.

"No."

They left the horses a few paces away from hallowed ground and Arthur continued forward on foot, after pulling the Horn of Cathbad out of his saddlebag. Merlin darted after him and caught his arm.

"You're really going to use that?"

"Yes, _Mer_ lin. That's why we came here."

"It's powerful magic," Merlin persisted, keeping a stern focus on the King's face. Arthur fidgeted and looked away.

"My father was taken from me, before his time. This may be my last chance to have a proper goodbye," Arthur confided. "If it was your father, wouldn't you want the same?"

Merlin struggled with himself for a moment, his duty to protect Arthur once again at odds with his caring nature. He let go of Arthur's arm with the slightest nod. Arthur silently thanked him, walking to the center of the stone circle. Merlin followed to watch from the outer boundary. He strongly suspected that he wouldn't be able to make it more than a couple of steps closer, even if he had to.

Arthur blew the horn.

For a few seconds there was nothing but an unnatural stillness around them. Then a tear rent the air in front of Arthur, leaking a bright, otherworldly light. Without even a glance back over his shoulder, Arthur stepped through the gap.

* * *

He was in a strange, empty place. There was no discernible limit to the space around him, but it was so flat and featureless that this was hardly to its merit. Arthur was standing on a flat, black floor-he hoped. He couldn't actually see anything under his feet, but felt like he was standing on a solid surface. Arthur decided to believe in that feeling; at the same time he determined not to look down again until he was back with his manservant. The 'ground' felt hard enough to be stone, but too impossibly even and smooth. A wall of light lit a space ahead giving the illusion that a walkway had opened out of nothing at all-something else that Arthur wasn't thinking about. It was too bright for him to make out anything beyond it. Out of that expanse of light stepped Uther Pendragon. He was pale now and his flesh had turned bluish. His eyes looked dark and sunken, a shadow of the man whom Arthur had known in life.

"Arthur..."

"Father," Arthur greeted. "I have missed you. I think of you every day."

"And I you," Uther breathed, stepping closer.

"There are times that I wish you were there at my side, so that I could talk to you about my reign."

"If I were," Uther responded, his expression going from a muted-melancholy to dull-anger. "I fear that you might not like what I would have to say."

"What?" Arthur felt his heart drop into his stomach. When he was thinking of their last goodbye, this was not what had come to mind.

"You have made commoners into knights."

"They are good men, loyal and honest, perhaps even the best knights that Camelot has ever known. I know that any one of them would gladly die for their kingdom," Arthur defended.

"Your marriage should have served to form a union with another kingdom, instead you wasted it on a serving girl," Uther continued on scathingly, as if Arthur hadn't spoken.

"I love Guinevere and she loves me. She is a strong and fair Queen, regardless of her bloodline. We married for love, and I will never regret that!" Okay, so Arthur was beginning to get a little angry now. This seriously couldn't be the way this ended, with yet another pointless argument.

"Love," Uther scoffed, waving the notion away with one gloved hand. "There are more important things than love. You allow your inferiors to question you, to treat you as if you are equals. You show them far too much weakness to sustain your rule."

"Listening to others' council shows strength, Father, not weakness."

"How is anyone going to fear you when you allow them to question your judgment?"

"I don't want our people to fear me!"

"Then you will never gain their respect."

"Is that what you told yourself?" Arthur asked before he'd even realized what he was saying. "It wasn't important to you to care? It was only important, in your mind, to have everyone else afraid of you. In all honesty, there were many times in my life when I feared you, but they were never moments that inspired me to respect you."

"You are my son," Uther dismissed.

"And Morgana is your daughter," Arthur countered, ignoring the way that Uther cringed in response to the mention of his sister. "The longer that I am King, the more I fear that she knew you far better than I ever did."

Uther turned away from him. "You must go now."

"No! Wait. It can't end like this. I need more time!" Arthur reached out to stop him but his hand passed straight through Uther's shoulder. A tear rolled down his cheek. This was all wrong.

Uther turned back to look at him. "You must go now, Arthur, or you will be forever trapped in the land of the dead."

Arthur hesitated, trying to think of the right thing to say. They would be his last words to his father, and his King.

"Think about what I have said to you. There is still time," Uther reassured him.

"But this..."

"Now go," Uther ordered in an eerie hiss. Arthur found himself turning around and walking numbly back towards the tear in the veil. Just before he stepped through he heard Uther call after him "I will always love you, Arthur," and looked back to see Uther fading into nothing against that strange light.

* * *

Back in Camelot, Mordred climbed the spiraling, stone staircase, two steps at a time. His shift patrolling the wall had just ended, and although it wasn't technically allowed, he did love to watch the sunset from the abandoned southernmost tower. The gracefully crumbling spire overlooked a section of the palace gardens that had grown a bit wild after Queen Igraine's death all those years ago, and was now even wilder after Lady Morgana's rebellion. Mordred still found the wild, maze-like greenery and questing rose vines to be beautiful.

He sat down on the very edge of the crumbling wall, leaning his back against the undamaged side of the window. A burgundy-black rose was creeping into the opening where his legs rested, and he used his dagger to cut off a blossom while he watched the bright, sunny yellows and pinks of the sky fade into deeper shades of red and violet. He smelled the rose, and remembered the home that he had lost.

A younger _Mordred looked up at the echoing sound of heels clicking over the cold stone floor of the court. He was lounging on the altar again, watching his puppy playing with the ball that Mordred had sewn for him. He quickly sat up to try and abandon his less than respectful placement before Morgana saw him, but she strolled in just as he had risen into a seated position._

 _"_ _Mordred_ _," Morgana pushed out her lower lip in a playful pout when she saw him. "You know better."_

 _Mordred hopped down from his perch on the edge of the carved stone slab to sit on the floor, "I'm sorry, My Lady." He leaned to the right, trying to peek behind her back and see what Morgana was hiding, but her eyes flashed with magic and the object vanished before he could identify it._

 _Morgana let out an affectionate little huff. "You're bound to do it again once no one is looking. It matters little. Come here, Lamb," she leaned down to his level and held out two closed fists. "Choose a hand."_

 _Mordred tried to catch her eye and spy the best answer in her mind, but she closed her eyes and shook her head. Her laughter was like music. "No cheating! Trust me."_

 _Mordred tapped Morgana's right hand and she opened it, prompting a brilliant red rose to blossom and grow from the center of her palm accompanied by a cloud of glowing indigo butterflies. Mordred giggled in delight while she pulled him into a hug, watching with him as the butterflies faded into the darkening red and pink sunset. "I bought you this too," she whispered, giving him a peck on the cheek while she revealed a bag of sweets from her left sleeve. "Don't eat it too fast. I'm sorry that I wasn't here for half your birthday."_

 _Mordred had pressed the red rose to his nose and breathed in its aroma, feeling safe in his guardian's arms. He smiled up at Morgana. "That's alright. I knew you'd come, just as you always do. I am glad that we're together now."_

Mordred held his dark rose up to the light, blinking the memory away. They had thought that it would last forever. Morgana could still smile back in those days. It was already a rare sight, but she smiled for him. Morgana's madness had seemed so mild and far removed. Mordred knew now that she had only been hiding her rage and hatred for the sake of his childhood. Looking back, the venom had already been there, but he had been too intent on thinking of her as she was in those good moments. He hoped that someday, somehow, he could get them back. The Druid still feared that another loss like hers might happen again. The way that Emrys looked at him, the way that Percival had stared at him when his triskele had been exposed... He knew that the King's gratitude might wane in time. Mordred was cursed after all. That didn't mean he would stop fighting for a chance at peace. _There is always another way out,_ he reminded himself of the mantra he had learned in his years on the run.

Mordred looked down to see Queen Guinevere strolling into the garden with a book tucked under her arm, and he retreated into the shadows just before she looked up. The Queen frowned slightly, curious. For a moment she could have sworn that she saw a scarlet cloak swishing over the edge of the tower opening. She blinked and it was gone.

* * *

Arthur didn't talk for a long time after his return from the other side of the veil. Merlin set up a fire for them as the sun set, watching his King, _his best friend_ worriedly while the blond sat very still across from him lost in thought. Finally, after Arthur's untouched stew had gone completely cold in the wooden bowl Merlin had placed beside him, the servant broke their heavy silence.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" He hazarded.

Arthur glared at him, which was something, at least.

"Sometimes it helps," Merlin clarified.

After another long, silence that probably only lasted a minute or two, the King deigned to speak. "My father disapproves of me. It seems he doesn't like the way that I have chosen to rule his kingdom."

"You mean _your_ kingdom," Merlin amended, his tone was gentle, matter-of fact, but there was a spark of something fierce in his eyes that Arthur didn't particularly want to consider at the moment.

"The things he said about my knights, about Guinevere... He thinks that I've weakened Camelot," Arthur continued. He immediately saw the spark begin to burn brighter in his friend's eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face, adding. "I don't regret my choice to marry Gwen, or to knight any of my men. I just can't help wondering... What if I have weakened Camelot? What if he's right?"

"You don't really believe that," Merlin disagreed, once again speaking as if stating immutable facts. "You have always done what you've known to be right. As long as you continue to do that your people will respect you for it."

Arthur ran a discerning gaze over his manservant. It was moments like this that made him wonder about the younger man, moments where his clumsy oaf of a servant's presence felt powerful. His blue eyes glinted with inexplicable wisdom. Arthur shrugged the feeling off, uncertain of what to do with it. "Thank you, Merlin."

"Some people still think that you're an arrogant ass."

Arthur's eyes snapped back to Merlin's face. "Who?"

Merlin bit his lip and shrugged, clearly hiding a smile.

"Very funny."

Merlin flashed him a grin.

Arthur shuffled into a more comfortable position on the rain-moistened grass. "We should get some sleep.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yay, another chapter posted! I am so glad that I had the forethought to finish this episode way ahead of time. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this one. We're finally nearing some action in the next chapter, so there's that. Thanks for reading guys, and special thanks to _Agana of the Night_ and _The Hope Lions_ for their reviews and overall support. As always, feedback is enthusiastically encouraged. :-)


	10. Back from the Dead

**Chapter 3: Back from the Dead**

"We've covered the area from Paulet down to Meldreath," Leon recounted to the roundtable at large. It was another one of those boring, uneventful Roundtable meetings. Mordred watched Arthur stare expressionlessly into the middle distance in the seat facing him while Sir Leon read on in a droning voice.

"This includes 30 troops at Bawtry, 15 at Tallen, 10 at Chime..."

Sir Gwaine was half asleep and from the looks of it, behind him, Merlin might be close to joining him despite the fact that he was standing up. Sir Elyan prodded Mordred's side under the table, having seen the boy's eyelids were also beginning to droop. Mordred sat up a little straighter, focusing on Sir Leon. He felt mildly jealous; regardless of the situation, Elyan always managed to keep focused. He didn't know how the older knight did it.

"...9 at Broom-" Sir Leon's monotonous report was interrupted by the loud clatter of all the doors to the hall flying open. Mordred and Elyan whipped their heads around to look while the others all watched with varying levels of surprise and curiosity. There was nobody there... somehow.

After a few seconds of silent scrutiny the knights turned back to look expectantly at their King. Arthur scowled at the misbehaving portals for a bit longer, then gestured to Sir Leon, "Continue."

Leon took a deep breath, pushing aside his discomfort and resumed reading the report in his hands, "11 at Bowell-"

With a loud crash the great iron chandelier overhead plummeted into the center of the round table, cracking the wood of the centerpiece. Everyone jumped in surprise and flinched away. Mordred looked from the damaged metal and wood to the broken iron chain overhead. It looked warped and menacing as it swung back and forth above them. He looked across the table at King Arthur to see him doing the same with only mild curiosity, apparently undisturbed by the strange occurrence. Mordred shifted his attention to Merlin. Emrys, unlike his King, was clearly troubled. A deep frown hardened his usually gentle features, and his blue eyes now glinted with subtle flecks of gold. Merlin's gaze locked with Mordred's, having felt the young knight's eyes on him. Mordred sent him a questioning look. Merlin shook his head, returning his attention to Arthur. Now was not the time.

* * *

As the meeting dispersed Mordred was quick to follow Elyan out the door, hoping to avoid any awkward exchanges with certain other knights. Alas, he was not that lucky.

"Wait, Mordred," Percival caught up with him outside the door and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Sir Percival," Mordred acknowledged politely.

Percival's mouth tightened somewhat upon hearing the formal address, but he didn't comment aloud. He and Mordred both glanced at Elyan for opposing reasons instead.

"I've got to go meet someone. See you later, Mordred," Elyan quickly excused himself, leaving Mordred with no way to back out. He still took his sweet time turning to face the tallest knight.

"King Arthur wants me to look into those reports of theft in the lower town," Percival told him once he had the boy's full attention again.

Mordred continued to look at him.

"I was thinking you might like to join me. The King did mention you, and we might be able to take Bran with us to the last place that was hit. It's the Miller's cottage. He should be no trouble out on the open land around the Mill."

"The King mentioned me?" Mordred echoed skeptically.

"He thought that it might be good for you- If I thought you were ready, and I do. So..." Sir Percival let the sentence hang, watching the teen's face for any sign of either acceptance or dismissal. He looked almost nervous. Mordred thought he was probably just imagining that.

"All right. Where will we start?" Mordred agreed, keeping his expression guarded and his tone nonchalant. Sir Percival smiled at him anyway.

"The first place isn't too far from here. There's a Goldsmith living under the East Wall. We can pick up something to eat from the market on our way out."

Mordred nodded, falling into step with his enthusiastic superior. It was clear to him that Percival was hoping he would forget their earlier disagreement. He didn't think that he would, but maybe in time he would be able to let it go. There was no point in crushing the man's hopes unnecessarily.

When they were passing through the courtyard, Mordred finally asked the question that bothered him most.

"Sir Percival?"

Percival stopped and looked down at him with obvious irritation. "You know you don't need to address me so formally anymore."

"Yes," Mordred acknowledged. "When you spoke with the King, did he mention why he thought me a suitable choice to accompany you?"

Sir Percival shrugged. "Not really. He knows that we work well together, and you've been making great strides with your training."

"I'm inexperienced."

Percival smiled down at him. "This is how you get experienced. Don't worry so much, Mordred. Nothing vital has gone missing yet."

"It is important enough that we're looking into it," Mordred pointed out. "There is no pattern between the thefts that I can think of... Stolen grain from the Miller's private store, a small chest of jewelry from the Goldsmith, and what did the thief steal from that tavern again?"

"The tavern was hit twice. First, a week's earnings were taken, then, a crate of gin," Percival reminded him. "You nodded off during that part of the meeting, didn't you?"

"Not exactly," Mordred disagreed. Then he admitted, "My mind may have drifted a little."

"It happens to the best of us," Percival reassured him.

"I didn't see the King having as much trouble."

"The King is a nobleman. He probably grew up in boring meetings. He's become impervious," Percival theorized with mock solemnity.

The corner of Mordred's mouth twitched upward, his mood lifting a little despite his misgivings. Perhaps this wouldn't be so terrible after all.

The Goldsmith's home wasn't nearly as large or notable as Mordred had been expecting. A two-level, thatched-roofed, stone house poked out of the smooth grey stone of the east wall, looking only a little neater and nicer than the more humble huts around it. Mordred knocked on the pristine front door, which had been painted Camelot-red within the past year, judging by the state of it. A sweet little old woman whose embroidered linen dress was as close to royal purple as it could possibly get without crossing the boundary of law answered the door. She looked like somebody's kind but pretentious grandmother.

"Oh! Good day, Sirs!" she answered in a relaxing voice. _Yep, definitely somebody's Gram._ "Wasn't expecting knights today. A bit of excitement..." She waddled away from the door as she said the last bit, possibly to herself.

"We heard reports of a series of break-ins in the area," Percival explained, watching the woman wander farther from the door. "We were told that some of your gold stores were taken?"

"Ah, yes, yes. How exciting! Those would be Gareth's," the woman remarked conversationally, then noticed the uncertain way they watched her from the doorstep. "Well, come along then. You can't very well stand there all day."

Percival cleared his throat uncomfortably and followed after the strange woman. Mordred entered behind him, shutting the door in their wake. He would have followed them to- wherever the old woman was going, but he was distracted by a hanging metalwork on the wall to his left. It was a beautiful piece of worked bronze, shaped and welded into an intricate, squared weave-pattern. Mordred recognized it instantly, although he realized that perhaps a village devoid of Druids up until very recently might be the perfect place to hide such a brazen symbol in plain sight. There was a plaque hanging under it with some words etched into it, but he paid the addition no mind. Mordred didn't need to read the writing to know it was a lie. He could read the knot just fine.

"Sir Mordred?" Percival called from the other room. Mordred found the other knight sitting at the kitchen table opposite an apologetic-looking man with splatter burns on the back of one wrist.

"Please excuse my delay, I was just admiring your home. You must be Gareth," Mordred greeted, pleasantly. He was sure that he wouldn't be the first. This house might be smaller than he'd expected, but it was still, well, _rich_.

"Yes. Thank you both for coming. I must say, I didn't expect to get a visit from the Knights so soon after the incident," the man admitted, looking from Mordred to Percival. "Let alone one from the Round Table. I would have tidied up more."

"Two from the 'Table, really. Sir Mordred just joined us a month ago," Percival replied easily. "You don't need to go to any trouble for us. We're just here to get any details the guards might have missed in their report."

Mordred retreated to stand a few feet away, leaning against the doorframe to watch Sir Percival interview the Goldsmith and his mother. He let most of the words float through his mind as background noise while he probed at the very edges of the others' minds, feeling their reactions and emotions as they occurred, considering them carefully. The Goldsmith was afraid. He was intimidated. The presence of two of Camelot's elite was leaving him conflicted. He had seen more of the intruder than he was admitting. _Someone he knew perhaps? Or it could be something more dangerous..._ Mordred thought back to the quaternary knot hanging in the hallway. He looked up from the Goldsmith to probe the old woman's mind. She met his eye with a penetrating stare. Mordred blinked and retreated into his own head, taken aback. One corner of the old woman's lips quirked upward in amusement and she winked at him.

"...So this all happened upstairs? He just hopped back out though the same window again, I imagine?" Percival was saying.

"Not in this case. The thief leapt out through my bedroom window I'm afraid," the old woman corrected, keeping her earth brown eyes on Mordred. "Terribly rude of him, I think. Sir Mordred, I could show you if you like. We'll let these two have their little chat while we take a closer look. The thief left a right old mess on the way out. You might find something there." She was already hooking her arm around Mordred's before any of the men could respond.

Percival watched her escort the younger knight out with his eyebrows rising towards his hairline.

"I um, yes. Thank you." Mordred looked back over his shoulder on the way out of the kitchen, shrugging at his superior.

"Naturally, Dear Boy," the woman said idly, walking with him down the hall. "You will need to help me on the stairs; my old bones do protest on these cooler days."

"Yes, El-" Mordred caught himself, running his eyes over the woman's face as they reached the stairs.

"Clever Boy, but I think it might be safer if you just call me Nuala for now, don't you?" Nuala remarked with a twinkle of mirth in her ancient eyes. Mordred swallowed, managing to avoid giving away any other signs of his uncertainty.

Nuala smiled warmly up at him and rested a hand on his chainmail, directly over his Druid clan-mark. She turned away using the same hand to hold her skirt out of the way of her bare feet. "Now, let us tackle this new quest, Brave Sir Knight: help this silly old woman up to her room."

* * *

Merlin strolled back towards the palace proper, his bag brimming with freshly picked herbs and flowers. Two of the castle maids passing through the courtyard ahead saw him and spared him a friendly wave. The sun was shining merrily overhead, even if the temperature was still a bit brisk, and that odd feeling of impending disaster had finally ebbed out of him at some point during his search for the herbs on Gaius' latest list.

"Spare a momun', Mate."

Merlin looked to the left to see a leanly muscled, strawberry-blond man leaning against a statue. He looked rough and had a wily sort of countenance to him. It was unsettlingly familiar. He swaggered closer, slipping fluidly between a careless drawl and precise-articulation that clashed with his coarse accent, "I've go' a queschun: might you know this Druid?" He held up a roll of parchment and let it unfurl itself under its own weight, watching the manservant's face. Merlin finally placed him: one of his many past kidnappers. Merlin had only seen his face briefly, half shrouded in shadow and more or less forgot about the mercenary, but it was definitely him.

Merlin took one look at the ink sketch and snatched it out of his hand, balling it up in his fist.

"Ooh. Stroock a nerve!" His ex-captor looked too pleased by his sudden temper.

"What do you want?" Merlin countered coldly.

"D' ya know wot 'e is?" The mercenary smiled at his own taunt and strolled backwards towards the nearest servants' entrance.

Merlin stared back at him, not shifting his expression in the slightest.

"Ya do," the man confirmed, his hazel eyes dancing with mischief. "How intriguin'. 'e's a friend, den?" He studied the warlock's face. "No' a friend."

"What do you want?" Merlin reiterated, stepping forward to keep himself just short of arm's reach of the career criminal.

"I'll keep my mouf shut abou' the Druid if you agree ta give me access to 'is chambers in da dark o' night."

Merlin stopped and turned to leave, wondering how stupid this man thought he was. He didn't even _like_ Mordred.

"Would ya call it 'igh treason?" the too loud query once again stopped Merlin in his tracks. The scruffy rogue stalked up to him like a prowling beast, and continued at the same inappropriate volume, " 'e'll be either burnt or 'anged, depends on wot crime really grabs attenshun," the mercenary said slyly, leading him back into a shadowed alcove by his arm. " 'e'll defini'ely be flogged first, not tha' ya care-"

Merlin tugged his arm free and stepped right into the older man's personal space, trapping him against the stone wall.

"Maybe ya do," the wretch theorized.

Merlin pinned the other man's chest with his forearm. "Stop. I don't care who you think you are, or what you think you know. I am not letting you into any part of Camelot's citadel. Nothing that you say is going to change that," Merlin informed him. "I haven't forgotten what you did. Threaten all you want, but the fact is, all you are is a treasonous criminal slandering a Knight of the Round table. You want my help?" Merlin smiled sarcastically. "Take my advice: you don't want to see just how badly the King would respond to your presence. Leave me alone." He pushed away from the leering criminal, and brushed off his arm as if it had been soiled by their mere contact.

"Never said I'd be doin' da talkin'."

Merlin readjusted the strap of his bag, shooting the mercenary a withering look before he strode away. He paused at the palace entrance, glancing back briefly to see that the troublesome wretch had vanished. Merlin's lips thinned. The foreboding feeling was back, and Merlin didn't even know why he had defended Mordred. He stepped inside and jumped in surprise when the doors shut behind him, seemingly of their own volition. _Did Uther's ghost just hear that?_ The idea was somehow even scarier than the thought of King Uther's return from the dead. _I can't keep aligning myself with Mordred,_ Merlin reminded himself. He was pretty sure that things were going to get a whole lot worse before they could get better.

* * *

Mordred followed Nuala through one dimly illuminated room into the next. The old woman's bedroom was smaller than many of the palace's storage spaces, but it had a welcoming coziness to it that suited her persona. The modest, straw-stuffed bed was little more than a boxed mattress covered in mismatched pillows and a woolen quilt-marigold to match the drapes. Mordred eyed the fine cloth and gave her a look.

"The local merchants do like me so," she explained away, as if that was enough to disperse the obvious incrimination.

"Not my business," Mordred decided. He felt no need to be hypocritical; she wasn't a thief that Arthur was interested in. Mordred crossed over to the open window and knelt down. There was a scuff mark on the floor. As he neared it Mordred felt a familiar thrill run through his other sense and closed his eyes to focus. Clairvoyants perceived a layer of the world that others only dreamt of. That was one reason why Uther had been so hell bent on their complete annihilation during the Purge, but that same gift made them vulnerable. Something was close, lingering, not yet prepared to strike.

"You're safe with me," Nuala told him easily, a friendly reminder of the fact, and he refocused on the task at hand. Mordred ran a finger over the thick substance on the wooden floorboard and rubbed it between his fingers.

"Goddess see us through, he was a messy wretch!" Nuala remarked, moving to sit on the end of her bed. "Not that I'm judging, mind you. Brought in a thrill of excitement for me, by all means. Then he got that sticky sap on my nice linens! Almost stamped a foot on my good pillow too. The nerve of him! A good knock with my chamber pot had that sorted straight away!"

One side of Mordred's mouth quirked upwards in appreciation of her pluckiness. He was certain that in spite of her age Nuala was a force to be reckoned with, even in this form. He sniffed at the substance and narrowed his eyes.

"Not sap." He gingerly poked his tongue out to taste it.

"Oh!" Nuala huffed, scolding, "You know where that's been, Young Man!"

Mordred's jaw tightened upon recognition of the all-too-familiar substance.

"Mordred?" Percival called, jogging up the stairs to join them.

"In here, Sir... Ehm..." Nuala trailed off with a demure cough.

"Percival," Mordred supplied distractedly, looking up afterwards only to see a sly glint in her dark eyes.

"Right you are. Sir Percival."

"You found anything?" Percival inquired, pausing in the doorway to eye the richly made drapes with suspicion.

"Possibly," Mordred admitted, scraping up the smudged traces with the knife that he kept in his boot. "Thank you for the tour," he added, quickly pushing past the larger knight and down the stairs. The whole room was beginning to feel like it was pressing in around him. The air was thickening like glue.

"I was glad to meet you," Nuala called after him.

"Excuse us," Sir Percival said with an apologetic look and chased after his fleeing comrade. He managed to catch up to him in the street outside.

"Sir Mordred!"

Mordred stopped and rested his hands on his knees, steadying his racing heart. Whatever creature had escaped the veil, he could feel it drawing closer.

"What was that?" Percival demanded.

"Needed a breath of fresh air," Mordred gasped, still working to catch his breath.

Percival drew himself up straighter, pinning the novice with a discerning glare. "I know you may not be fond of me right now, but we're looking into this together. I can't work with you if you're going to keep secrets from me. "

Mordred drew out the blackened blade and showed it to him.

Percival inspected the sticky residue and shrugged. "Some kind of sap?"

"A kind of pitch." Mordred took the blade back and held it away at arm's length, striking the blade diagonally against the side of the stone wall until it sparked, igniting the flammable coating. "Birch tar."

"Why birch?" Sir Percival inquired.

"It's what I used," Mordred admitted darkly. "I might have known him..." He shook his head. "If someone from that time in my past knows that I am here, it would explain why there is no discernible pattern."

"What time in your past? Why do you think this is about you?" Percival inquired, locking eyes with the teen for a tense moment before he got an answer.

"I don't." Mordred sounded like he was lying even to himself. "They had plenty of time to come looking for me."

"Who did?" Percival asked sternly.

Mordred locked eyes with him for a moment, considering the consequences of telling the truth before he answered, "The men I served before Ragnor. That's all you would want to know."

"We need to report this," Sir Percival advised. As much as he wanted to know what his friend was hiding, he knew better than to pry, with things as they were.

"No," Mordred denied a little too quickly. "No. It could be nothing. We were going to talk to the tavern keeper. Let's just see what we can learn there first."

"That isn't your decision to make," the older knight reminded him.

"We have no evidence that it is anything to do with me."

"The birch tar is evidence, Mordred."

"It was, or it was a coincidental reminder of my youth," Mordred reasoned. Percival didn't look like he was buying it. At best, he was questioning what a person of Mordred's age could mean by 'my youth'; at worst he was questioning Mordred's veracity. "Please. Let us see where this leads first. That is what we were sent to do, isn't it?" Mordred urged, wearing a guileless expression.

Sir Percival hesitated, but eventually acquiesced, nodding once despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm.

* * *

Nothing more of note occurred until after dark. Percival and Mordred had parted ways, each uncertain of the other. Sir Percival was thankful for his shift on patrol that afternoon, while Mordred spent the time meditating on a crystal hourglass to settle his troubled consciousness. It was finally time for the night shift to transition into patrol. The three remaining knights were just coming off duty, unaware of their silent company.

"Why is it that you always take twice as long to change out of your armor?" Gwaine teased, prowling around Percival's bench in the changing area.

"Because I'm twice the size of you, Little Man," Percival responded in a tone that stressed just how obvious that answer was.

"Then why's it that your brain is so small?" Gwaine replied in a mockery of the larger knight's tone. Percival rose from his seat in silent challenge, nudging the other knight's shoulder halfheartedly. Gwaine, flitted away and out of reach with his fists up, too busy laughing not to ruin the effect. Behind them Elyan shook his head with a fleeting smile at the other knights' antics, passing by on his way out. He was halted once again by an unexpected sight.

"Mordred?" Elyan questioned, walking over to the small alcove where the youngest knight had sequestered himself. Mordred paused with a throwing knife poised ready to fly in his left hand, and looked up.

"Oh. Good evening, Sir Elyan," he greeted, looking like a guilty puppy.

"Don't you start Sir-ing me now, Mordred," Elyan chided, walking up to stand beside the teen's bench. "We're both off duty." He eyed the target board before continuing meaningfully. "And training ended ages ago."

"I need more target practice," Mordred explained, throwing the knife to embed itself an inch and a half off-center on the target. Elyan's eyebrows shot up in reaction to the young man's accuracy when using his non-dominant hand. His surprise was mirrored by the newly-arrived Gwaine's low whistle in appreciation, of which Mordred was clearly skeptical. It only served to amuse Gwaine more.

"That's pretty good for your left hand, you know," Elyan assured the gifted young novice.

"I can do better," Mordred said decisively, rising from his bench.

Gwaine and Elyan exchanged a look, the latter shaking his head in surrender before he slipped out the door. This was not the first night that he had found Arthur's newest recruit behaving in this way.

"Just one more round," Mordred announced, moving to retrieve the throwing knives and start again.

Gwaine stepped forward to intercept him. "Wait. I think that's enough for tonight," he reiterated.

Mordred looked down at Gwaine's hand on his shoulder, then up at him with wide, innocent eyes. _That's it,_ the older knight remarked internally, _this boy is either a cherub or a baby animal in disguise._

"You won't get anywhere if you wear yourself out before every training," he pointed out, with a hopeful smile. "It'd be healthier if you tried for a bit more fun and relaxation once in a while."

"I can't sleep," Mordred confessed, not so much a contradiction as it might have sounded. He still wasn't sure how to deal with the ever-upbeat Sir Gwaine.

The older man's smile faded in sympathy. He didn't know the whole story, but they all knew in vague terms how screwed up Mordred's life had been before Arthur had stumbled upon the ragamuffin and led him back to civilization. Gwaine was about to say something reassuring -not that he had a clue what- when Mordred cocked his head to one side. He was listening for something, then he was gone. Gwaine frowned at the edge of his scarlet cloak disappearing around the corner.

"That was rude," he observed. "He's going the wrong way. Hey! Mordred!" He ran after the slippery young knight.

Mordred ran toward the source of the distress. (He explains, "Pain is like a siren. Its sole purpose is to draw attention to danger, or damage. This is doubly so with the pain of those close to me. We are all connected. You don't need to be Clairvoyant to know that." He winces at the sight that meets him on the other side of the pillar, adding, "Regardless, I only bother with pain when it has meaning. Otherwise, it is a waste.")

"Sir Percival!" Mordred exclaimed, dropping to his knees beside the cowering blond. The aura of flaring, red pain that he perceived crackling over Percival's skin only encouraged the clairvoyant's feelings of guilt. Percival hadn't really shunned Mordred now that he knew he was a Druid. He'd even apologized for his initial reaction. Mordred had been the one avoiding Percy, hiding away in a corner, and now his friend was injured. The truth was Mordred doubted that all the others would have been as open-minded or accepting as he had been. Mordred tried to clear the unproductive thoughts from his mind and scrutinized the wound in the larger man's back. The air around them felt inexplicably chilly, Mordred tucked that detail away for later scrutiny.

" 'S not as bad as it looks," Percival rasped, not quite managing to hide his wince.

 _Typical,_ Mordred thought _. He's got an axe in his back and he's trying to calm_ _me_ _down._

"Percy! What happened?!" Gwaine shouted from almost directly behind Mordred, nearly startling the teen into giving himself whiplash. He didn't usually allow anyone to sneak up on him like that. _Focus_ , he silently scolded himself.

"Bloody thing must've fallen off of the rack," Percival provided, allowing the others to pull him to his feet and duck under his arms.

"Let's get you to Gaius," Gwaine muttered, directing Mordred, "I've got him. Get the door."

Mordred followed his instruction, but stopped short when he turned back to close the door behind them. The air around him had turned frigid. He had that ominous prickling feeling on the back of his neck. They were being watched. When Mordred cast his magic out in search of the observer, he found no one there except for the three of them. He brushed it off and shut the door behind them, then stiffened. Ice cold fingers trailed over the back of his neck, grasping for his cloak. He whirled round to find nothing but empty air.

"Mordred?" Percival called. Mordred shook himself and ran to catch up with the others, disregarding his racing heart.

"Sorry," he mumbled, ducking back under Percival's arm without looking at either of the others. He therefore failed to notice his friend's concern. Mordred had gone white as a sheet.

* * *

"It was certainly quite an accident. I'm surprised that you got a wound this deep from a fallen axe," Gaius thought aloud while he stitched up the sizeable gash in Percival's muscled shoulder. Opposite him, Merlin was leaning against the shelf facing them with his arms crossed in displeasure.

"Not as surprised as I was. Just my luck I guess," Percy brushed it off. "Although..."

"What is it?" Merlin pounced on his uncertainty.

Sir Percival reflected on his answer for a moment before admitting, "It's probably nothing. I thought that I heard someone lurking. It was likely this one mucking about with Gwaine on the other end of the armory."

"Target practice," Mordred murmured without looking up or halting in his pacing. Merlin narrowed his eyes in response to the Druid's uncharacteristic distraction.

"Are you all right, Mordred?" Gwaine asked, frowning at the novice from his place beside Percival's bench.

Mordred looked blankly up at the others; for once it wasn't a front. He had been too lost in his own thoughts to track their conversation.

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," Percival told him with a subtle note of protectiveness in his tone.

"Have you?" Merlin put in, locking gazes with the younger mage. Percival's brows knit together in confusion.

"No..." Mordred began, hesitating only briefly to continue, "I felt something when we were leaving, as if we were being watched, and when I went to shut the door behind us, something brushed the back of my neck." He squeezed his eyes shut, correcting himself, "There was no one else there. I checked."

"I need to speak with Arthur," Merlin decided, pushing past Mordred to the door. He had noticed the other mage's slight hesitation when recalling what had frightened him.

"Merlin!" Gaius called after him.

"First the round table conference this morning and now this? I don't believe in coincidences, Gaius!"

"And would you care to explain what this coincidence concerns?" Gaius probed with a suspicious arch of his mighty brow.

Merlin froze for a second, like a doe caught in an archer's sights. "No..."

There was an awkward moment while everyone stared at Merlin with varying levels of suspicion. Finally, Sir Gwaine took pity on him.

"I wouldn't read too much into it, Merlin. Sir Mordred hasn't been sleeping well-Sorry, Mordred-" he interrupted himself.

"That's true enough," Mordred conceded, not offended in the slightest.

"He's been under a load of stress." The guilt in Percival's voice made the Druid hate himself a little bit.

Merlin turned in the doorway to give them a flat look. He returned his attention to the novice knight. "You think that you're hallucinating?" The way that he said it made it sound more like a sarcastic statement than an actual question.

"I don't know," Mordred replied truthfully. Merlin left to find Arthur. Mordred moved to follow him.

"You aren't leaving yet," Gaius stated, stopping him before he could take the first step. "I'm prescribing you a sleeping draft."

(Mordred flashes a sarcastic look before turning back to accept the small, glass phial that Giaus has fetched from his cupboard.)

* * *

Arthur looked up from the parchment piled on his desk as his ill-behaved manservant burst into his chambers without knocking.

"Merlin, we've talked about this," Arthur chastened, dropping the diary entries back onto his desk.

"What? Oh." Merlin looked around as if he thought he might have misplaced something. "Gwen's not here so..."

"Where's my dinner?" Arthur prodded.

Merlin stopped short, thrown by the completely valid non-sequitur. He shrugged it off in the next breath and returned to his own concerns, "I think we're in trouble."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Merlin denied, looking affronted. "Why is it that when I say we're in trouble you instantly assume that it's my fault?"

Arthur let the question hang in the air for a moment, then prompted, "Why do you think that we're in trouble?"

"Because I think you may have released Uther's spirit into the world of the living."

There was another, decidedly angrier beat of silence between them.

"And what makes you think that?" Arthur asked, avoiding Merlin's gaze. He didn't want to think about his father's ghost or his stinging words.

"The candelabra in conference room-"

"Was _old,_ Merlin!" Arthur dismissed, annoyed.

"Were the doors?" Merlin countered.

Arthur pulled a face.

"The doors that slammed open in the middle of the meeting - not very secure if you ask me."

"I didn't. That is hardly evidence that my father has risen from the dead!" Arthur argued, walking around to perch on the front edge of his desk with his arms crossed.

"That isn't all," Merlin persisted. "Just before I came here, I was talking with Percival and Mordred-"

"That boy really should be getting some rest," Arthur complained, then a thought occurred to him. "I thought you hated Sir Mordred!"

"Gaius had to stitch up Percival's wound because an axe supposedly just dropped off of the rack and embedded itself in his shoulder! Gaius was very surprised by the depth of that wound!" Merlin scrunched up his face; he could have phrased that argument better. "Sir Mordred thought that he felt something odd. A presence in the room, but the others have him thinking that it's just exhaustion."

"It probably _is_ just exhaustion! The boy needs his sleep... as do you," Arthur said, standing up and herding Merlin towards his chamber door.

"I'm not overtired, or paranoid, Arthur!" Merlin insisted, standing his ground several feet short of the exit. "The Round Table represents everything that you've changed since you became King. Percival is a common knight, not to mention Mordred! You said it yourself: Uther doesn't approve. He's protecting his legacy! Who knows what he's capable of!"

"That's enough! Merlin," Arthur warned, turning away towards the window and retreating into his own troubled thoughts. "Leave me be."

Merlin's lips thinned. "Would you like me to fetch you your dinner, Sire?"

"Out!"

Merlin left the King to think over his words, before he could start throwing things. Arthur probably just needed time. This was his father they were talking about after all; it was bound to be difficult for him to accept. That didn't make the situation any less dangerous.

* * *

Gwen was just heading back to Arthur's and her chambers to get ready for bed when she heard another pair of footsteps echoing hers. She looked back over her shoulder to see who it was… only to be met with an empty corridor. She looked the other way - empty. Gwen resumed walking and so did the phantom boots.

"Hello?" Gwen called uncertainly, "Is someone there?"

No response.

Gwen stopped walking. So did the phantom. She started again. So did the phantom. Gwen resisted her mounting unease and told herself that perhaps it was no more than a distorted echo. Logic told her that she had worked in this castle for years before becoming Queen. She should already know about such things. Gwen had almost talked herself back into feeling secure when the 'echo' suddenly vanished. She stopped dead. Somehow, its absence was far more disturbing than its presence. The sound came back, only different. Booted feet were now marching hastily towards her from behind. The Queen whirled round, and snapped, "Show yourself!"

A familiar young man came around the corner behind her and froze, in the middle of folding up his Camelot red cape. "Your Majesty?"

Gwen let out a laughing sigh. _It really_ _ **was**_ _only an echo._ "Sir Mordred. Forgive me, I... I thought you were someone else."

Mordred gave a half-nod and fell into step with her.

"What are you doing here at this time of night? I thought that Arthur had given you the evening off."

"I was practicing my aim, and then Percival had an accident. Sir Gwaine and I had to take him to see Gaius."

"Is he all right?"

"He will be in no time, or so he insists. One of the axes fell and cut-" the shutters to the window on their right rattled loudly, interrupting Mordred's explanation. He stopped talking; the shutters stopped moving.

They began to walk again - and only then did it dawn on the Queen: _Mordred's steps barely make a sound._

"Someone else is here," Gwen breathed.

Mordred frowned at her uncertainly. "What-" the rest of his question was drowned out by the shutters. Gwen looked from the trembling shutters to Mordred, wordlessly verifying that they were both witnessing this.

She walked over and held the misbehaving pieces of wood steady, backing off when the resistance ceased. They remained appropriately still.

"That was strange," Mordred remarked as they resumed walking. The next set of shutters began to quake, as did the next and the next.

"It only happens when you talk," Gwen noted. Her theory seemingly confirmed by the lack of an interruption. She shivered and rubbed her arms to combat the plummeting temperature and noticed that she could see the Druid's breath clearly. Mordred flinched and turned away from her as if someone had just pushed past him.

"Something just-" he cut himself off this time, realizing his mistake. Gwen grabbed his forearm and hastened her pace, ensuring that he would keep up with her. The odd quaking of the windows seemed to pursue them, growing more violent the farther they went. When they reached the next fork, the Queen stopped and looked back at the clamor that had chased them. The shutters abruptly stilled.

"What _is_ this magic?!" she demanded, frightened. Mordred looked around them in search of a source for the madness.

"I don't think it's-Look out!" Mordred shouted, pushing Gwen out of the way of a flying shield that had torn itself off of the wall. It altered its course in midair to hit him hard in the center of his chest, knocking him back against the wall with an unnerving crack. He slumped to the floor with a pained sigh.

"MORDRED!" Gwen shrieked, jumping up to rush to his side. Before she could reach him an invisible force yanked the Queen's feet out from under her, dragging her away down the hall. "No!" Gwen struggled and reached desperately for anything to anchor herself with. Whatever magic this was, its wielder was clearly intent on killing them, and Gwen would be damned if she was going to let it separate them. She managed to hook an arm around the edge of the doorway while she was being dragged into the kitchens. "Mordred!" Gwen shouted. She heard him stumble to his feet and start towards her. The door slammed shut on her. Black spots threatened her vision. She looked up to see Mordred catch the door and hold it back from hitting her again. Her eyes went wide as saucers, "GET DOWN!"

Mordred followed her command and a flying sword narrowly missed his head, embedding itself deep in the wood. Gwen let out the breath she'd been holding. Unfortunately the sudden drop to his knees had forced Mordred to loosen his grip on the door. On the second slam the Queen went limp, sliding stunned into the kitchens. Mordred swore loudly in both the local language and his mother tongue, cradling what he suspected was a broken right hand. The door slammed shut in his face and bolted itself. The furious young knight tried to force it open with his uninjured hand to no avail.

"QUEEN GUINEVERE!" he shouted. When he got no reply, Mordred reached out cautiously with his magic. Her mind was still there, unconscious, but thankfully alive. Mordred threw himself against the door a few more times. It wouldn't budge at all and to his horror, the Druid noticed the first tendrils of smoke creeping around the edges of the wood. He let out a frustrated shout, giving the door a vicious kick. Then he stilled, looking down at his hands while he considered using a spell. It would be dangerous for both of them in his excited state. Even so- Mordred was torn out of his thoughts when the tapestry behind him coiled and struck like a snake, wrapping tightly around his neck.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay yeah, it's a cliff hanger, but it's not really a bad one at least, right? I dunno. I hope you liked it. Anyway, thanks for reading, and special thanks to _catherine10_ , _Agana of the Night_ , and _Linorien_ for reviewing. As always, feedback is welcome!


	11. The Trinity

Chapter 4: The Trinity

"QUEEN GUINEVERE!" Mordred shouted. When he got no reply, the clairvoyant reached out cautiously with his magic. Her mind was still there, unconscious, but thankfully alive. Mordred threw himself against the door a few more times. It wouldn't budge at all, and to his horror, the Druid noticed the first tendrils of smoke creeping around the edges of the wood. He let out a frustrated shout, giving the door a vicious kick. Then he stilled, looking down at his hands while he considered using a spell. It would be dangerous for both of them in his excited state. Even so- Mordred was torn out of his thoughts when the tapestry behind him coiled and struck like a snake, wrapping tightly around his neck. He grabbed at his animate noose while it dragged him back against the wall. He felt his feet beginning to lift off of the floor and focused on the bright light that was Emrys' mind, far nearer than he had expected

 _ **"Emrys! Emrys! Help! We're trapped!"**_

 _ **"**_ _Mordred_ _ **?"**_ Merlin thought inresponse, caught off guard by their sudden contact after so many years. _**"**_ _What's_ _wrong_ _ **?**_ _Who's_ _trapped_ _ **?"**_ He was already on his way toward them regardless, which was ridiculously comforting.

 _ **"It's burning her! I can't reach the Queen!"**_

 _ **"**_ _WHAT_ _ **!"**_ Emrys boomed through his head, almost shocking him out of consciousness just before the warlock himself rounded the corner. "Oh, for..." the prophesied hero had the wherewithal to look irritated while he grabbed the sword out of the door and used it to cut Mordred free, "You might have mentioned that!" _Although, my life would have been a lot simpler if I'd left him there..._ the warlock added internally.

Mordred coughed, averting his gaze to the floor while he tried to pretend that he hadn't overheard the hurtful thought. Merlin was too busy trying to force the door open to notice anyway.

"Aspringe!" The door was blasted open with a flicker of warm light from Emrys' palm. He darted into the smoke-filled kitchens and carried Gwen out, only to dart back in and extinguish the flames with his magic. Mordred checked Gwen's breathing for himself. It was too shallow. He slumped back against the wall to watch Merlin work, and after a beat, yanked the tapestry down out of spite. Merlin gave him a look.

" _ **How is she?"**_

"Nothing seems to be broken. She's probably suffering from smoke inhalation. I can't tell for certain without Gaius' help."

 _ **"I'll get him as soon as I can**_."

"You're not talking..." Merlin observed.

" _ **My throat is bruised and my chest feels half-crushed. I will talk when I need to."**_

Merlin's lips thinned for a moment as he battled with himself. The night's watch had finally arrived to help. Mordred would've wondered at the guards' incompetence if he hadn't been so transfixed by the other magic user. Merlin came to a decision. "Fetch Gaius," he told the closest guard, moving to inspect Mordred's injuries. The guard glared at him and puffed out his chest, not fond of being ordered around by a mere servant.

"Go," Mordred insisted before the man could make a scene, feeling insulted on Emrys' behalf. The older man stiffened upon hearing his raw-sounding growl-the attack had really done a number on Mordred's throat- and hurried off.

"Don't try to talk," Merlin muttered offhandedly, probing Mordred's ribs with his fingertips while the guards behind him began to carry Queen Guinevere away to her chambers. Mordred let out a pained grunt, then moved to stand. Merlin pinned his patient's shoulder to the wall with his free hand, continuing his inspection.

"Don't get up. Oooh," he picked up Mordred's bruised and swollen right hand. "This is broken."

 _ **"I hadn't noticed."**_

"Multiple fractures..." Merlin poked, gently at least, at the back of Mordred's hand. Assessing it as though he didn't have his patient's sarcastic words echoing through his skull.

" _ **Thank you, Emrys,"**_ Mordred spoke into Merlin's mind, no longer being sarcastic. Merlin's head snapped up to look at him. " _ **For saving me again."**_

Merlin looked away, guilt clear in his expression. He didn't reply, mentally or otherwise.

* * *

When they joined Arthur in his chambers, the King was standing by the foot of his and Gwen's bed with his arms crossed over his chest while Gaius treated the Queen. Merlin walked up to his usual place beside Arthur while Mordred waited behind them at a respectful distance.

"Arthur..." Merlin greeted, holding back the flow of his next attempt to make Arthur see sense.

"What happened?" Arthur demanded, forgoing greetings. He turned from Merlin to the patient, young Druid standing behind them.

"You know what happened," Merlin answered for him in a hushed voice.

"Sir Mordred," Arthur clarified.

"I know that you don't want to accept it, Arthur," Merlin persisted. "But your father never approved of you and Gwen. And Sir Mordred..."

"He wouldn't do this," Arthur denied with enough certainty to throw both mages for a loop.

"Uther wouldn't try to kill a Druid?" Merlin clarified on behalf of them both.

"You can't speak for yourself?" Arthur challenged, shifting his full attention to Mordred.

Mordred opened his mouth to attempt an answer, but-

"Look at the bruises on his throat, Arthur! Uther's spirit tried to strangle him with a wall hanging. His windpipe is damaged," Merlin defended.

"Is this true?" Arthur prompted.

Mordred nodded his head, trusting Emrys' interpretation of events.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to come to terms with the news. He stayed like that for a few seconds, then turned to Gaius. "How is she?"

"The smoke has reached her lungs and she has sustained some rather nasty bruises. However, I am confident that she will recover in time," Gaius reported, while Merlin ducked past him to grab a roll of bandages out of Gaius' bag. "It is lucky that you got to her when you did. Any longer and she could have died."

Merlin nodded in humble acknowledgement, pausing beside Arthur when he saw the despair in his best friend's eyes.

"I have always known my father to be cruel, but he w-" Arthur caught himself, stealing a split second's glance at Mordred. "How could he do this to Guinevere? He knows how much I love her."

Merlin waited quietly at his side until his friend steeled himself and turned to the Court Physician.

"Gaius..." Arthur questioned. "What do you know about ghosts?"

Merlin grabbed Mordred by the arm and led him away to the table so that he could wrap his ribs, hoping to escape his mentor's fury.

* * *

"Hullo, my Luv!" the barmaid greeted fondly, setting another tankard of beer down in front of her favorite knight.

"Bless you, Annie," Gwaine said, grinning drunkenly up at her.

"I'd rather have the coins, Brave Sir Knight."

"Ahh," Gwaine chuckled.

"This round's on me," a stranger's voice said, accompanied by the clink of silver pieces hitting wood. Annie smiled and accepted the payment before weaving her way back to the counter with a swish of her curvaceous hips.

"Thanks, mate." Gwaine took a deep draft of his beer, studying the wiry stranger over the rim of his cup.

"I wan'ed ta get your attenshun," the man remarked.

"Well you have it. What did you want it for?" Gwaine replied with slight slurring marring the end of his last sentence.

"Sir Gwaine, yeah?"

"That's right."

"I was 'opin' we could talk about King Arfur's newest recruit."

"You know Sir Mordred?"

"Yeah, we met. Briefly. I were jus' wonderin' how you lot woulda' knighted the bloke. Knowin' whot 'e is an' all," the man answered.

Gwaine's gaze, which had been wandering lazily towards the bar, now centered on the other man's face.

"Ya dunno, do ya?" the ruffian noted innocently. "Dat boy's a Druid. An' not just any Druid at tha'."

"Is he?" Gwaine replied, mulling the new information over for a moment. He paused to wink at a passing barmaid before he added, "Honestly, I can't be arsed. Lucky that Camelot doesn't shun his kind anymore, eh?"

"Didn' tell ya whot 'e is, did 'e. Ya wanna know why? I'll tell ya. 'E ain't normal. You dunno whot 'e did before 'e come 'ere. Ya think 'e's lawful an' that? I know 'im."

Sir Gwaine's drunken, carefree demeanor evaporated. " _I_ know Sir Mordred now, well enough. I like him. His past, and his heritage are his business." The Knight leaned forward with his elbows on the table, locking eyes with the unwanted troublemaker. "Why are you poking your nose in?" Something clicked in his memory, and his lip twitched upward in a snarl. "Walker."

"Dis the part where ya threa'en me?"

"I don't threaten." Sir Gwaine smiled sharply. The cold look in his dark eyes was enough to get his message across.

Walker bolted.

"Run along then!" Gwaine chuckled, slipping back into his usual playful self, but there were still dark thoughts lingering behind his dark chocolate eyes. First, Merlin had started acting weird, now Walker was here stirring up trouble for Sir Mordred. Gwaine doubted that it was a coincidence. _Nobody picks on my friends and gets away with it,_ he decided, no longer wanting to drink his night away. This would be his last tankard of ale tonight- this next one.

* * *

Arthur's head whipped around at the sound of a loud clatter in the archway leading to his and Gwen's bedroom. Mordred, who'd been lightly dozing with his head rested on his folded arms at the table, straightened enough to squint at Merlin. The manservant was smiling awkwardly at them, bent over the tray he'd just dropped.

"Sorry. Did that scare you?"

Arthur straightened his posture. "Well, you're fortunate that I'm not easily frightened."

"Really? Because you looked like you jumped out of your skin."

"That's because you're a clumsy oaf. Now pick that up." The King shifted his attention to his possible-heir's tousled head, pretending to be more interested in the sleepy Knight across from him.

Mordred wondered for the umpteenth time why he was even still there. He had shed his chainmail when Merlin pulled him aside to wrap his ribs, expecting to be sent away to recover. Instead, Arthur had deemed it better that he stay with them until Gaius returned with the potion, and medicine for Mordred's throat. Neither mage was clear on what the reasoning behind this decision might be.

"Where is Gaius?" Arthur asked impatiently. "How long can it take to make a potion?"

"These things take time if they're to be done properly," Merlin calmly replied, tidying up the mess he'd made on the floor. He stood and looked back over his shoulder.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, while in contrast, Mordred tried to reclaim his comfortable dozing position. Sadly, the hole torn in the back of his granite grey shirt was making that difficult, not to mention his tender ribs.

"I heard something behind the door," Merlin said in a foreboding whisper.

"You're imagining things, Merlin," Arthur dismissed. Mordred shut his eyes, feeling secure in the company of the two most trustworthy and influential people that he knew.

Merlin chuckled, returning to his task. The door rattled. Merlin and Arthur crept away to investigate. _Good_. Mordred thought to himself. He doubted that he would be getting many more chances to rest tonight with the way that things were going and for once he felt like he could sleep. The slamming of the door jolted him out of his peaceful respite and he looked toward it just in time to see Gaius scare the two legends when they turned to find him standing directly behind them. Mordred couldn't help but chuckle. The crafty old man had done that on purpose, knowing that he had the acting ability to get away with it.

"Shall we?" Gaius prompted and the three of them took their seats at the table with Gaius at the head, Merlin on his right and Arthur seated across from his manservant on Mordred's right.

The physician set down a number of phials, sliding the deep violet one to Mordred. "One spoonful, twice a day."

Mordred nodded and tucked it into the partly-detached waistline of his breeches.

Arthur scoffed. "You've only been here for six and a half weeks! Honestly, do you own anything that isn't coming apart?"

Mordred gave him a flat look and gestured towards his chainmail piled neatly at the unoccupied end of the table.

Merlin shook his head in that 'you are being a prat' sort of way.

"You have the potion?" Arthur addressed Gaius, hoping to shift the disapproving mood of the room.

"This will allow you to see Uther in his spirit form. Once you are in his presence, you must blow the horn. It is the only way to return him to the world of the dead," Gaius instructed.

Mordred eyed the three phials and picked up the poison-green concoction to look at it in the light.

Arthur grabbed his hand and lowered it to the table, preventing him from bringing the potion close to his face.

"You have a plan?" Merlin tested, seeing where Mordred's, and presumably, Gaius' thoughts were already going.

"I'll think of something," Arthur hedged.

"We need bait," Merlin stated on the figurative-mute's behalf.

Arthur saw the way that Mordred pointed to himself in perfect synchrony with Merlin saying 'bait', and scowled.

"He's injured, _Mer_ lin."

Mordred shook his head, insisting that he was both willing and able to be bait, as best he could without words.

"He can't even talk," Arthur pointed out, pinning down Mordred's hand holding the phial with a reproachful expression on his face. The young knight wondered idly whether all royals were quite this controlling, or if it was a trait unique to the Pendragon line.

Merlin shot him a warning glare as if he had somehow picked up on the rebellious thought.

"Can fight," Mordred insisted in a grating, painful-sounding voice that caused the others to cringe.

"Don't do that again," Arthur ordered. He looked at the phial in his hand, then at Gaius. "Is this even safe to drink?"

Gaius started to answer, hesitated, and admitted, "I'm not sure."

Merlin and Arthur looked at each other. The King nodded for his servant to get on with it. Merlin steeled himself to take a sip, only to frown with the rim centimeters from his lips.

"What are you waiting for?" he inquired, suspicious.

"To see if it's safe," Arthur replied matter-of-factly.

"Oh, I see. If I don't die you'll drink it."

"Precisely."

Mordred rolled his eyes. _ **"I can drink first if you get him to let me go,"**_ he offered.

Merlin seemed to take that as a challenge, hastily finishing off his bottle and slapping it down on the table. He shrugged and nodded to Arthur, indicating that it was safe. The King tried to do the same as he had and gagged.

"Augh. That is the foulest thing that I have ever tasted!"

"Did I forget to tell you about that?" Merlin joked in a voice gripped by nausea.

"You still want to come along, Mordred?" Arthur challenged.

Mordred looked from Arthur to the disgusting potion, lastly meeting Emrys' calculating eyes. He braced himself and downed the potion in one big gulp. Once he was through the painful coughing fit that it had provoked, he caught the warlock's eye to see whether he had chosen well. Merlin's expression was as difficult to interpret as ever. Hopefully, that meant that he'd done the right thing.

* * *

Mordred knocked his head back against the armrest of Arthur's throne. He and Emrys had figured that this seat at the foot of the throne was the most provocative placement for their Druid 'bait'. To their respective horror and chagrin, the King himself had pointed out that the most provocative placement would be to have Mordred sitting on the throne, but he was the only one of them who thought that option was even worth mentioning. Mordred shrugged off the disconcerting thought and tossed the apple he had grabbed out of Arthur's fruit bowl to himself. It was bright, delicious green and begging to be eaten, but his throat was too raw for him even to swallow water without searing pain.

Mordred reached out with his magic to brush the other sorcerer's mind, hoping to draw his attention.

Merlin ignored him, keeping focused solely on their King, who was prowling around in wait just inside the throne room. The young knight got the feeling that Merlin was just trying to avoid looking at him. Mordred stared longingly down at his apple.

"Take a bite if you want it, Mordred," Arthur said impatiently. "I don't care about food in the throne room." He glanced over to see Mordred tenderly rubbing at his throat. "Fine then. Give it here."

Mordred tossed Arthur the apple.

"Honestly," Arthur muttered, walking out into the hall to set the troublesome fruit out of sight on a side table. He was beginning to think that this plan was a bust anyway.

" _ **Emrys..."**_ Mordred called to the aloof warlock's mind.

He got no reaction. Merlin instead watched Arthur turn back towards them and raise a hand to hover over the horn only to shrug off whatever had spooked him.

"Perhaps if we shut the doors..." Merlin suggested.

"I'm not shutting him in," Arthur firmly rejected the idea. Merlin looked away, apparently feeling insulted.

 **"Emrys..."**

Still no response, other than a hint of unrest from the older sorcerer.

" _ **Emrys!"**_

 _"WHAT!"_ Merlin snapped within his own mind, glaring at the clairvoyant from his seat on the opposite side of the open double doors.

" _ **I'm bored."**_

 _ **"**_ _I don't care, Mordred,"_ Merlin rejected _. "This isn't any fun for Arthur and me either. If you really need something to keep your mind occupied, why not consider how likely you are to die at the hand of a dead zealot within the next half-hour."_

There was a beat of silence between them. _**"I'm sensing some hostility from you."**_

 _"..."_

 _"_ _ **That's a first. I do not believe that anyone has ever actually imagined a pregnant pause at me before just now. What have I ever done to- Wait. What was that?"**_

 _ **"**_ _What?"_

Oblivious to the others' unspoken conversation, Arthur glanced down the far end of the hall just in time to see his father's ghost pass by. He drew the horn and crept cautiously towards it.

 _"_ _ **Listen,"**_ Mordred was a faint rustling. _"_ _ **There! Did you hear that?"**_

 _ **"**_ _No... Are you sure that it-"_

 _"_ _ **Shh. You just spoke over it."**_

 _ **"**_ _Over what?"_

 _"_ _ **It sounded like..."**_ Mordred looked to the right, having caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Uther was gliding towards him with a predatory look in his cold, dead eyes.

Merlin tensed, watching the his own breath form a white cloud in the freezing cold. "Mordred?"

Mordred made a run for freedom, but Uther suddenly appeared out of thin air behind him, and grabbed him just short of the doors. Mordred let out a ragged cry as he was yanked backwards into the tyrant's clutches.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted, jumping up to try and slip through the closing doors. It was hopeless. They slammed shut on the horrifying sight of the pale, lifeless Uther lifting a kicking, and thrashing Mordred up off the floor with both the boy's arms pinned to his chest. Arthur rushed over to help shove the doors open, but there were two loud clanks from the other side before he could even begin. The dead ruler had bolted them shut.

In the throne room, Mordred thrashed in his attacker's vise-like grip as Uther reclaimed his seat on the throne. The Druid struggled uselessly to free his arm or to find leverage as he was essentially trapped in the specter's lap. He bit down on dead man's wrist even knowing how useless it was, mostly to buy himself time. He nearly pulled himself free. The Druid made another dash for the door only for Uther to drag him backwards by the strap of his belt and dig icy fingers into his forearm. Mordred wriggled and kicked the specter's knee. Uther pinned him with a patronizing look. Then he went still, staring at the teenager's chest. The edge of Mordred's shirt had been pulled down in his failed attempt, revealing one spiraled edge of his tattoo. Uther's pale blue, grimacing face took on a look of utter surprise. Their eyes met, and for a moment everything seemed to still. Even the banging clatter of Arthur throwing himself against the doors, trying to force his way in seemed somehow muted. The dead King's hand came down to push Mordred's shirt out of the way, revealing the spiral triskelion etched in black over the right side of the Druid's upper chest. He looked from the clan marking, to Mordred's face.

"I see... You look so much like her," Uther thought aloud, his expression vulnerable. For the first time that Mordred had ever witnessed, the Father of the Purge looked _human_. Then his expression hardened. "It had to be done."

Mordred's eyes went saucer-wide as Uther reached up and covered his face with a painfully cold hand. The weakening young Druid felt the heat draining out of his body as the world faded to black.

* * *

 **A/N:** Ok, yeah. I know that this one was too short, but the next one will be longer. Two cliffhangers in a row... Don't kill me? You can probably tell how this'll turn out anyway, so at least it's not too suspenseful. Anyway, thank you for reading this, and special thanks to _Agana of the Night_ and _catherine10_ for their reviews. Feedback is always very welcome!


	12. Family Reunion

Chapter 5: Family Reunion

Arthur knew that it was hopeless. He had grown up in this castle and was well aware of how heavily these doors had been reinforced. They were meant to hold back a siege if need be, protecting a king and his family from the invading threat. Arthur was not oblivious to the irony of his predicament. These doors were performing quite well at doing the exact reverse of their intended purpose. He hoped that Merlin was having better luck in his attempt to sneak around the back.

"Father!" Arthur shouted at the top of his lungs, hurling his full weight against the misbehaving portal two more times in a last ditch effort to break through. It was therefore understandable that he was surprised when it worked. He stumbled into the Throne Room just in time to see his father's specter let Mordred's frost-coated body slide limply to the floor. Uther had taken his throne.

"What have you done?!"

"A Druid, Arthur? I thought that I had raised you to be better than this, and yet here we are," Uther scolded over Arthur's breathless question. It was the same tone that he had used when his young son embarrassed him in front of a handful of visiting delegates.

"You murdered my knight!" Arthur took a bold step forward, angry and also itching to verify the truth for himself. He had to know for certain, because Mordred couldn't really be dead. It didn't bear thinking about. "He's barely more than a boy! He might even be-"

"I did not spend my entire life building this kingdom to see my own son destroy it," Uther interrupted before Arthur could say 'my nephew.' "I raised you all your life to be a worthy King, and yet you have learned nothing!"

"I _have_ learned. I watched you rule. You were always isolated, alone," Arthur recalled. "You trusted no one, and that distrust is what bred your hatred. Nothing more. I would rather be an imperfect king, ruling with the help of the people whom I value and trust, than be powerful and alone."

"A true King _must_ rule alone. He needs nothing more than his own morals and knowledge. I taught you everything that you needed to know in order to do that."

"Not everything," Arthur countered, his tone dropping to a dangerous note just shy of a growl. "You talk about morals! You betrayed your own family - how many times? You lied to us. You pitted us against each other, and kept us from the people we loved. How could you just... just discard your own grandson! Cast aside as if he were nothing!"

Uther looked down at the still form on the floor, then stood to face the current King. "Whatever you might think of me, Arthur, everything that I have done, I have done for the good of Camelot," he argued, closing in on his rebellious son. "I will not let you destroy all that I have built!"

"Then you'll have to kill me, because I'm not you, Father. I can't rule the way that you did," Arthur decided, with less regret than he would've expected mere days ago. "I won't."

There was a tense pause in which neither of them moved. Uther stood very still, staring at Arthur's stubborn face. They were both too transfixed to notice that they had regained an audience. The dead King finally seemed to realize that Arthur wasn't bluffing and straightened to his full height.

"Camelot must come before all else," Uther declared. A shield flew off the wall and struck Arthur in the head, knocking him unconscious. "Even you," the spectre concluded, striding purposefully toward his son-become-victim. He stepped over Mordred and was stopped short by a hand wrapping around his ankle. He tried to pull out of the Knight's faltering hold, but the stubborn teen held fast. Uther's lip curled upward in a soundless snarl and he kicked the young Druid in the neck. Mordred's hands went to his throat as he coughed and gagged, and his eyelashes fluttered in a hopeless battle to remain conscious. Uther towered over Arthur's prone form and reached out one ghostly hand to finish what he'd started.

"Step away from him, Uther!" Merlin warned, emerging from behind one of the pillars that lined each side of the room.

"You? You can do nothing to stop me. You're only a servant," Uther dismissed, looking Merlin over with disinterest, before turning back to his morbid task.

"I am much more than that," Merlin cautioned, continuing his approach. Uther sent a bench flying at Merlin. The warlock's eyes flashed gold, still locked on the dead King's face, and the bench was cast aside by a gust of wind.

Uther whirled back around to face his new opponent straight on. "You have magic!"

"I was born with it!" Merlin declared, with more than a hint of accusation. It felt good to finally be able to say it, but the deceased tyrant was far from the first person to whom he wanted to reveal his true nature.

"I made you my son's servant! All this time, you've been right here under my nose!" Uther exclaimed, stalking towards him. "I will not let your kind poison my kingdom!"

"You've got it all wrong," Merlin corrected, stopping the angry spectre in his tracks. "Even during your rule, there was always magic at the heart of Camelot. Look around you, Uther! We're all still here!" He waited for his words to sink in before returning to the more immediate issue. "I won't let you harm Arthur." Merlin flung his hands out in a sweeping gesture and an even more potent gust of wind carried Uther out through the doors, ghost or not.

Merlin took a deep, calming breath and followed him out, searching the hall cautiously for any sign of the dead Tyrant. After finding no clue as to where he'd gone, Merlin settled for heading towards the nearby storage room. Uther crept out of the shadows on the other end of the hall and stalked silently after him.

Arthur jerked awake on the cold stone floor. Uther was gone and Merlin was still nowhere to be seen. Arthur shoved himself up into a seated position then groaned, pressing a palm against his throbbing temple. His head was killing him. There was something else that he was forgetting, something important. _What was..._

"Mordred!" Arthur scrambled over to the still body lying face down at the foot of his throne. He turned Mordred onto his back, telling himself that the blue tint to the Druid's lips was just a trick of the moonlight. "Don't be dead, don't be dead," Arthur whispered, leaning over to listen for breath. He let out the one he'd been holding. Mordred was alive. His breathing sounded strained, but he was still, miraculously, breathing. Arthur let his head fall forward against his nephew's frost-kissed shoulder, silently thanking whatever gracious gods were looking out for them for their mercy while he tried to steady his own racing heart. There was a startled shout from somewhere not too far away. _Merlin. Typical._ Arthur looked down at the prone knight, feeling torn. It probably wasn't the best idea to leave Mordred alone in his current state... "I'm sorry," Arthur apologized as if Mordred could hear him, and bolted off to rescue his manservant.

* * *

Merlin steadied the studded club that had been swaying loudly in its place on the rack, mildly relieved that Uther was nowhere to be seen within the confined space. He wasn't dumb enough to think that the ghost wasn't somewhere close by. He kept his senses on alert for any sign of movement. There was no sign. No warning. Merlin turned back towards the door only to find two spears flying at him. They pierced through the right shoulder and left arm of his jacket and pinned him back against the wooden target board behind him. Merlin slowly looked up at the dark figure marching towards him. Uther raised his sword to strike with a vicious glint in his lifeless eyes.

"I am going to enjoy killing you."

Merlin glared defiantly up at him, waiting for the monster to strike.

"Stop!" Arthur's voice commanded, causing Uther to falter in mid-movement. He turned back, revealing the furious, young King standing in the doorway, holding the Horn of Cathbad out in warning.

"Arthur..." Uther began, taking a step towards his son.

"No," Arthur denied. There were unshed tears threatening to fall from his eyes. "This has gone too far!"

"Listen to me-"

"You have had your turn, Father. Now it is my time to rule," Arthur declared, raising the horn to his lips.

"No! Arthur! The boy he h-" Uther's exclamation was cut short by Arthur blowing the horn, dispersing the dead king's ghost into a fading cloud of light. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut for a second, reminding himself to breathe. That had been far too close for comfort. If Arthur had waited another second, Merlin knew his secret would have been exposed. When he reopened them Arthur was in front of him, studying the spears pinning Merlin in order to release his trapped friend. He was trying very hard to keep his roiling emotions in check.

"Are you all right?" he asked roughly.

"I think so. My arm hurts, but I'm pretty sure it's just a scratch," Merlin assured him. "Ow!"

Arthur set the spear aside and moved to pull out the other. "Don't be such a girl," he muttered out of habit. There was no emotion behind it.

Merlin watched him sympathetically. "Are you all right?"

Arthur shot him a scathing look. That was more like him. "I had no choice but to leave Mordred in the Throne Room. He needs immediate attention."

Merlin nodded. "I'll take care of him."

"Merlin," Arthur called.

Merlin stopped in the doorway to look back at him.

"You were right. You warned me that using the horn would be dangerous," Arthur apologized. "I should have listened."

Merlin sighed, searching his mind for the right thing to say to get that mournful look off of his best friend's face. "He was your father," he said simply, before leaving. It was all there was to say.

* * *

The next morning, Mordred hopped down from his perch on the end of the physician's table and Gaius held out a bottle of yellow-orange liquid.

"Take two spoonfuls, twice a day," Gaius instructed. "And I am afraid that you will not be doing any more training for the next few weeks, either." He added, "Physician's orders," as the door opened behind him, having noticed Mordred's calculating look.

Mordred plastered on an angelic smile to dispel the old man's suspicion.

"I shall be informing the King of my verdict as well."

His smile faltered.

"You are not the first stubborn child that I have had to reckon with," Gaius informed him, remembering similar tactics employed by the Druid's mother in her youth.

Mordred let out a huff. He was eighteen now, hardly a child anymore by his own reckoning. He heard the new arrival let out a familiar chuckle.

"Ah, Sir Percival. I hope that wound on your back isn't giving you trouble," Gaius said in lieu of a greeting.

"No. Thank you, Gaius. It's feeling better already. I was just hoping that you could give me a bit more of that tonic. The first bottle got knocked off the dresser this morning, and broke," Percival admitted ruefully.

"I believe that I have another in the cupboard," Gaius replied, already walking away to search for it. "Excuse me for a moment."

Mordred nodded, studying the larger man beside him uncomfortably. He still hadn't apologized for the way he'd been acting: avoiding Percival, judging the older knight more than he himself had been judged. Now he couldn't even speak and he could feel the blond staring at him.

"So... King Arthur said that you and the Queen were in some kind of accident in the kitchens..." Percival prompted, awkwardly.

Mordred gave a stiff nod, glancing up at his friend, then back down again.

"What happened?"

Mordred considered his response for a moment then gestured towards his throat and shrugged helplessly. He held out his hands in an apologetic gesture.

"You can't talk?"

"Here you are, Sir Percival," Gaius said, holding up the bottle of tonic. "It seems that Sir Mordred's throat was rather badly injured in the fire. It could easily be weeks before his voice returns," the physician lied. It wasn't the deception that bothered Mordred. He knew that the King wanted Uther's brief return kept secret. It was just how easily the old man had manipulated the truth, as if having frequently practiced deception.

Mordred pushed the discomfiting thought away and gave his concerned friend a reassuring pat on the arm with his good hand.

"Was there anything else that you needed?" Gaius verified.

"No, thank you Gaius," Percival said.

Mordred watched the old man turn back to the potions he was preparing, to make sure that the physician wasn't looking. Then he began cautiously gesturing while he followed Percival out, communicating as best he could that Percy should take him out to the Mill as they'd planned.

"I know what you are thinking, Young Man," Gaius corrected without looking up. _Great_. It seemed that both Gaius and Sir Gwaine were unfairly astute. "If you need something to do, perhaps you might deliver these prescriptions for me. If nothing else, it will keep you occupied for a time."

Mordred pouted.

Percy grinned at him in amusement. "Sorry, Mordred. I'd rather not cross Gaius. Maybe after your hand is better, eh?" He ruffled the teen's dark hair and headed back towards the courtyard. He had already forgiven Mordred, it seemed. It was a relief, even if everything wasn't quite settled between them yet. The young Druid still wanted to explain himself and apologize. This would have to be good enough until then.

* * *

"Something's still bothering you, isn't it?" Merlin observed while he helped the king don his armor.

"I didn't expect it would ever be like this, bringing him back," Arthur reflected as he picked up one of his leather gloves, but didn't put it on, instead frowning down at it.

"You were right," Merlin consoled him, having expected the young king to take a while to truly recover from the haunting. "Uther had his time on the throne. All of that time that he spent distrusting others, trying to maintain his rule, I think it changed him. Perhaps it became an obsession."

"No, not that. Although, you might have a point," Arthur admitted. "There was a moment in the throne room when I lost my temper… I thought he'd killed Sir Mordred-" Arthur shook his head with a wry smile. "After all of the lies, and everything I've discovered since his death... I hadn't wanted to confront it, but I realized that I need to understand."

"And what did he say?" Merlin asked, pausing with the shoulder piece in his hands, curious about where Arthur was going with this. He didn't recall witnessing any grand confessions.

"He didn't admit anything. It was in his eyes," Arthur recalled, remembering the subconscious movement with perfect clarity, his father's subtle tell when Arthur mentioned his nephew's abandonment. "He flinched. He didn't admit it aloud, but he knew that I'd found Morgana's son, and it horrified him."

Merlin met his gaze, "Mordred."

Arthur nodded, "I think it was harder for Uther to finish the deed once he had to look his grandson in the eye. He didn't want to face what he'd become, and I almost lost because I didn't either."

Merlin swallowed and went back to his task, his expression slightly too tense. "So aren't you going to tell Mordred the truth, then?"

"No. He isn't ready. Mordred is still getting accustomed to Camelot. He's got his seat at the round table, and besides, he's injured. When the time is right, he will take his place at my side, but not yet," Arthur paused, seeing Merlin's dissenting expression. "This is a matter of court, it has to be handled delicately. There are enemies vying to take my throne, Merlin. Mordred's appointment as heir will hardly serve to deter them if he appears to be an easy target. With or without a successor, Gwen and I can hold our own for a while longer."

Merlin stared at him, blindsided by Arthur's seemingly devious motivation. "You almost make it sound as if you're just using him."

"I am using him," Arthur admitted. "But no more than any other King would for the good of his kingdom. Mordred is the Prince of Camelot whether he knows it yet or not; royal blood carries responsibilities. I'm giving him back his birthright," Arthur justified. Although at least, he looked like he still felt guilty despite himself. "He will secure the Pendragon line of succession just as I did before him."

"I agreed to help you find him in order to keep him safe."

"And he will be safe, looked after by you and Gaius, trained and taught by myself and Guinevere, and guarded by the most skilled and loyal knights in the most stable Kingdom in Albion," Arthur's face scrunched up as he turned and snatched his other glove away from his skeptical manservant. "Sometimes I really can't understand you, Merlin. From the moment we found Mordred, you hated the boy. You even told me to kill him. Now I tell you he's Morgana's son, and suddenly you think that a Knighthood isn't good enough for him."

"That isn't what I meant, Arthur!"

"What would you have me do?" Arthur snapped.

Merlin locked gazes with the frustrated royal for a moment before looking away. His shoulders drooped as he admitted "I don't know."

"Of course you don't," Arthur concluded, grabbing his sword and heading out of the armory. He added in a calmer voice, "Bring that shield with you."

Merlin fetched the requested shield, still silently fretting about this new development while he followed Arthur out. He still didn't really know how to deal with the conundrum that was Mordred, but he was fairly certain that lying was not it. That had backfired terribly enough with Morgana that Merlin would never dare repeat that mistake. The last thing that he needed was to provide Mordred with a motive to betray them. Especially one that Merlin couldn't entirely discount. The hidden prince had already been marginalized and used throughout his entire life. _If Arthur-_

Merlin stilled just short of passing the King his shield and all his ponderings ground to an abrupt halt; there was a familiar scruffy, strawberry blond man chatting with Sir Patrick at the other side of the training field. He seemed to be posing as the young Knight's servant.

"Merlin," Arthur prompted, again.

"Oh. Sorry, Sire," Merlin said distractedly, passing the item over. Arthur's eyes narrowed watching his friend retreat to the nearby bench. Then Arthur followed his previous line of sight to an unfamiliar servant gathering Sir Patrick's unneeded weaponry to return to the armory. The man's back was turned, but there was something familiar about the faintly limping man. Arthur decided to keep a silent watch on that one until he was certain, and went ahead with the training.

* * *

Mordred set down the bottle of medicine that Gaius had given him to drop off in the royal quarters and turned to leave. He had wanted an excuse to see for himself how Queen Guinevere was recovering, but now that he was here, he was too nervous to look.

"Hello?" Gwen called out, sounding raspier than usual. Apparently, the Queen was already awake. "Is someone else there?"

Mordred paused halfway to the exit, uncertain of what he should do.

"Merlin, is that you?"

Mordred sighed and walked up to peek around the carved, wooden screen that divided the sleeping area from the rest of the room. He smiled wanly at her and held up a hand.

"Mordred," Gwen greeted. "We must stop meeting like this. I would have thought that you would be out on the training field with Arthur."

Mordred shook his head. It was a bit awkward for him to interact with anyone other than Emrys with his windpipe damaged as it was. Arthur had already put word out to the other knights by now, enforcing Gaius' ruling that he shouldn't try to talk or train for at least a few weeks. Apparently, the Queen hadn't heard yet.

"What's wrong? You can't talk?" Gwen inquired, confirming his suspicions.

Mordred nodded again, worrying at the neckerchief that hid his bruised throat with his uninjured hand. He nodded uncomfortably towards the door.

"Wait," Gwen disagreed and gestured for him to come closer. "Let me have look at you." When he still hesitated, she added, "I don't fancy waiting here all alone until training ends."

Mordred gestured towards the door again, thinking that he could go fetch a servant or someone else who'd be better suited to look after her.

"I'm not going to get you into any trouble for keeping me company," Gwen persisted, pushing herself up into a seated position against the headboard in preparation to face him.

Mordred relented and pulled up a chair beside her. The Queen leaned over and carefully pulled his scarf down to survey the damage. She winced at the deep purple bruising underneath.

"How did this happen?"

Mordred gestured to a tapestry hanging on the wall and mimed a noose.

"What?" Gwen placed a hand over her mouth, suitably baffled. "When?"

Mordred paused for a beat, uncertain about how to answer without words, then pointed to her, closed his eyes and let his head fall to the side.

"Me… You mean when I was knocked out?"

He nodded.

"Then how..." Gwen trailed off, undoubtedly realizing how pointless this conversation was since he couldn't talk. "Sorry. I was going to ask how we got out, but... I suppose I'm only causing you more trouble."

Mordred smirked and indicated his neckerchief. Gwen frowned questioningly, then mirrored his amused smile.

"Merlin."

Mordred nodded, then furrowed his brow when the Queen's expression shifted again. She was regarding him with a deeply-thoughtful look.

Gwen looked away in response to his unuttered question. "I remember when you were a child..."

Mordred tensed. He really hoped that she wasn't remembering what he thought she was remembering.

"Merlin brought you to us to hide you from King Uther, but you caught a fever. Do you remember?" Gwen glanced over, finding confirmation in Mordred's utter stillness and intense stare. "You had magic then. The mirror broke when you screamed, and Morgana swore to me that she could hear you talking even though your lips never moved. That wasn't her magic, was it? It was you."

Mordred shook his head, opening his mouth only to close it when he realized that he couldn't speak aloud well enough to give her an excuse. Then he gave a frustrated wave of his arm, communicating the unfairness of this, if nothing else.

"I just want to know... If you can speak to me without-"

Mordred stood up, ready to flee, but Gwen grabbed the sleeve of his worn out, blue shirt.

"Mordred! I'm not trying to trick you." She leaned forward to catch his eye. "Listen, I know that you are loyal to us. You haven't done any harm."

Mordred stood there for a moment, feeling torn. He couldn't help but trust Gwen. In his childhood there had been very few people who truly cared for him as a child rather than a powerful Clairvoyant. Gwen had been one of those few. On the other hand, this could be where his future would begin to unravel, pushing a Queen to defy her husband's rule no matter how slightly. In contrast, she might have changed just as Morgana had. This could be a trap. Mordred slowly sat back down.

"I didn't mean to accuse you," Gwen assured him. "You were only a child."

Mordred scrutinized her face for any hint of deception, more for show than anything. He had already felt no trace of a lie from her consciousness. The Druid pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal his clan marking.

"I know: you're a Druid..." Gwen trailed off, her eyes lingering on his triskele as though she was truly seeing him for the first time. "You." She shook her head, casting the thought aside for later. "Do all of you have magic? You really did- mind-speak to Morgana? You can do that?"

Mordred pointed to the Pendragon banner flapping in the wind outside the window.

"I know that it's against the law, but surely-" Gwen stopped short, seeing him shake his head.

Mordred pointed to the flag again, then pressed his hand over his mouth, locking eyes with the Queen.

"Not anymore," Gwen interpreted, correctly.

Mordred leaned back in his chair. Gwen had to believe that it was true. For both their safety, and perhaps Arthur's as well, the Queen needed to think that his magic was buried for good.

"I understand," Gwen finally said, and Mordred thought he must be imagining the hint of regret in her voice. "I want you to know, your secret is safe with me. I will never tell a soul."

* * *

Walker carried a mace, club and a very dented shield into the armory dropping the mace and shield on the first shelf he passed. He strolled into the changing area that Arthur's newest recruit and his lot frequented, idly twirling the bat, mentally counting the cupboards that he passed. The mercenary stopped to face the one that Sir Patrick had identified as Mordred's. He inspected the lock briefly, miming a strike once, playfully, before he went ahead and smashed the housing. Walker carelessly tossed the bat away to roll under the bench and began searching through Mordred's things.

"Borin', useluhss, dir'y and to'n," he judged Mordred's belongs as he dropped a bundle of dried flowers, an empty pot of muscle salve and a shirt onto the ground. "Jus' to'n, dis one...Eh, not ya color, Mate. Whot's dis?" he leaned in to grab a polished wooden box tucked into the back of the cupboard. It was heavier than he'd expected and he inadvertently knocked Mordred's crystal hourglass over as he shifted to gain leverage. Walker scrambled to catch the moderately valuable item, but it rolled off the edge and shattered before he could get a good grasp. "Bollocks. Coulda' sold dat," he lamented under his breath. Turning back, he caught sight of movement reflected in the surface of a hanging sword and whirled round. No one else was there. He frowned and moved a bit closer to the rack, taking a careful look. He froze, catching the reflection in an over-polished battle axe - not just his own reflection. There was a woman standing directly behind him. Her white dress hugged a seductively-feminine form and her ringlets, red as poppies, framed her gorgeous, doll-like face perfectly.

Once again Walker spun to face no one at all. He slowly turned back to the battle axe, feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck. The woman in the reflection smiled and waved cheekily at him, her laughter playing in his ears like music.

"What are you?" He gasped, staring at her blood-red, pupil-less eyes. The woman tilted her head, looking him up and down appraisingly.

"You'll do," she concluded.

"Wha-" Suddenly, the mercenary couldn't move, other than to breathe, not even to blink, stuck to the spot as if his limbs had turned to stone.

"I'm going to borrow your body. You may not get it back," the reflected woman informed him matter-of-factly before stepping into his reflection. No, stepping into him! She spun on the spot and he tried to scream while he felt her soul overlaying his own. She promptly shut his mouth before he could make a peep. She turned back towards the over-polished axe and surveyed her new body. "Don't be so melodramatic," the creature chided her host with his own stolen voice. "We have a task to perform. You can have yourself back when we're finished."

* * *

 **A/N:** Sleep soundly, my Lovelies! Just kidding. Thanks for reading this, I hope you like it. I must add an apology to Agana of the night; I tried having a Uther POV scene but had to scrap it for the sake of the flow/chapter length. He's not really an introspective personality and it just wouldn't sit right no matter how much I wanted it to. Anyway, special thanks for the feedback, _Agana of the night_ , and to _Linorien, catherine10_ , and _JarvisAI_ for reviewing.

Since nobody seems to actually object to my strange little soundtrack/accompaniment idea, I'm making it a regular episode-ender.

His Majesty's Secret Playlist 

* * *

One Brick(feat. Illogic)- Aesop Rock (A strange choice, granted, but I sneeked references&allusions to it throughout this episode, even the opening quote is an excerpt from the lyrics)

* * *

One of these Mornings- Moby (Arthur returns to the world of the living, haunted by Uther's words/Mordred remembers Morgana)

* * *

God's Gonna Cut You Down-Detroit Social Club (Arthur and Merlin believe the threat is vanquished for now, until Merlin notices Walker amongst the younger knights/Walker is possessed by a mysterious supernatural being)


	13. Mute

**Episode 3: Mute**

 _"Before I speak, I have something important to say."_

 _-Groucho Marx_

Chapter 1: Together but Separate

Hooves pounded over rain-slicked wood. They were charging into the citadel now, no one stood in their way. Blood would spill soon enough. Pendragon blood spilling over a dark slate altar, the city lost in chaos without their Once and Future King while the mad sorceress looked on in glee. They were hers. A false maid and a desperate liar rode together into the courtyard. Mordred could only watch. His voice had been stolen. His mind had been bound and gagged by the King's Law, so she would have her vengeance...

Mordred's eyes snapped open. He jerked upright, his mouth open to scream, but only a pitiful, muffled whine escaped. It took Mordred a moment to recover from his nightmare. This was worse than usual. Not that the haphazard maze of alien images and sensations that he usually endured wasn't harrowing in its own way. This was too linear. He found himself missing the random collage of other people's dreams. There was only one reason for such a grounded current. Mordred rolled out of bed and shoved open his recently perfected window shutters. Two women were in the courtyard below. The younger one took a step closer to the three knights who were hurrying down the steps towards them, and collapsed into Sir Leon's arms. Mordred slammed his window shut and paced away, deep in thought. _Well, this certainly presents a problem._

* * *

Down at the other end of the hall in the guest chambers a flurry of activity surrounded the unconscious Princess.

"Merlin, bring up some more blankets, and get a fire started. Quickly now," Gaius instructed. "We must keep her warm at all costs."

"She just collapsed!" Sir Leon explained, laying Princess Mithian down, swiftly but carefully, on the bed. "Is she going to be all right?"

"I am afraid it is too early to say. Thank you, Sir Leon. You have done all you can," Gaius replied.

"Of course." The knight retreated out of Gaius' way without further prompting, but the young woman's aged servant was less obedient. She stood stubbornly at the foot of the large four-poster, refusing to budge when Merlin stepped in and tried to lead her away gently.

"I'll show you to your room."

"I will not leave my Mistress" she protested.

"She's in good hands, I assure you," Merlin said, trying to coax her toward the door.

"She means everything to me."

"And if it were up to me-" Merlin tried, only to be cut off by her desperate-sounding insistence.

"Please!"

Merlin looked over at the bustling Physician. "Gaius?"

Gaius studied them for a brief moment before relenting. "Find yourself a seat. Merlin, pass me a blanket."

The princess' eyes fluttered open and shut again when he draped the blanket over her, almost appearing to search for her servant. Merlin brushed the idea off as nothing. Mithian was exhausted. He doubted that she had any sense of what was going on around her. No, that odd calculating look on her face must have been his imagination.

* * *

Later that night, a brisk knock on the door caused Arthur to look up from his seat at the table in his royal chambers. Merlin's head peeked around it to look at him before he'd even acknowledged it.

"Come in. How is Princess Mithian?"

"She's weak, and clearly exhausted, but she'll live."

"Good," Arthur decided, standing to leave. "I shall speak to her at once."

"Actually, no."

"Excuse me?"

"She's not to be disturbed until morning."

"This is important," Arthur disagreed, making to step past the obstinate apprentice.

Merlin held up a hand to block him. "So is the health of the Princess."

Arthur blinked at him. "Merlin, did you just give me an order?"

"Yes," Merlin confirmed, adding belatedly, "Sire."

"Feel good, does it?"

"It is not unpleasant."

Arthur walked away to stare meditatively out the window.

"Arthur?"

"For them to ride through the night like that, something must have happened."

"We'll know more," Merlin reassured, heading to the door. "In the morning."

* * *

When they reached the Throne Room the next morning, Arthur was halted in his tracks by the sight of his youngest knight running down the stairs to join them.

"Sir Mordred, what are you doing here?"

"He probably heard about Princess Mithian from the other knights," Merlin provided without need of any prompting. Even without mental contact from the young Druid, he had still somehow become Mordred's default translator. Gwaine had also called him 'the Mute's Bullhorn,' prompting Percy to thwack him over the head with his waterskin on his friend's behalf.

Mordred nodded, his blue eyes watching the King expectantly.

"I understand that you want to help, but you're still recovering from your injuries. You can't even talk..." Arthur pointed out.

 **Please, Emrys. Something has happened. Can you not sense it?** Mordred entreated his fellow mage, bypassing the King. He hadn't yet decided what to do about his troubling impressions from Morgana last night. That didn't mean that he was going to let the threat pass unanswered.

Merlin eyed him for a fleeting fraction of a second, "If you really want to help. You can assist Gaius and me in her treatment later. You're in no shape to resume any of your duties as Knight."

Mordred drew in a frustrated breath. He should have seen that coming. Emrys had all but ceased his adversarial manner towards Mordred over the past couple weeks. However, he'd also simultaneously developed a cordial, but enragingly constant distance from the younger sorcerer. Whether that meant Emrys acted as an interpreter without ever engaging Mordred on his own behalf, or that Mordred would not see a glimpse of him for days, depended largely on necessity. _I probably should just be thankful that he's actually talking to me for once. I can build on that._ Mordred shifted tactics as the Princess and her 'servant' filed in past them, pinning the King with a pleading look.

"Go on. You can join us for this meeting, but afterward your involvement will be strictly under Merlin's supervision." Arthur decided, ushering his nephew past them into the room.

"What are you doing?" Merlin whispered sharply.

"What my family should have been doing all along. It is his birthright, even if he doesn't know it yet," Arthur countered just as quietly, walking into the Throne Room to signify an end to the discussion. To be a proper prince, Mordred would need plenty of experience in the ways of the royal court. They already had too much catching up to do. Arthur sat down on his throne beside a mildly-curious Gwen, resting a hand over hers. The Queen glanced over at the unexpected addition to the attending knights and gave the slightest nod. She wasn't nearly as surprised by his presence as Merlin seemed to think she should be, but she had more immediate issues to attend.

"Princess Mithian," Gwen began, gentle as ever, despite the obligatory formalities of court. "You've come a long way to speak with us. What brings you here in such haste?"

"War, your Majesty. Nemeth has been invaded by Odin's men," Mithian recounted as her servant helped her into her seat. "They came at night, without warning. We could not hold them."

"This was three days ago, you say?" Arthur recalled from an earlier report from Gaius.

Mithian nodded absently, trying to hold back tears. "His men. They showed no mercy. They cut us down like wheat."

"And your father?" Gwen questioned gently.

"He was badly wounded," Mithian explained. "But we managed to escape."

Mordred's hands contracted for a moment but he forced them to relax. He had picked up the lie instantly, even hidden as it was amongst true horrors.

"And where is he now?" Arthur inquired, leaning forward in his throne, drawn in by the heartbreaking tale.

"We made it as far as the border, but he could not continue any farther." A tear fell down the princess' cheek and she averted her eyes, staring at her hands.

Another lie. Guilt. She did not want to say these things.

"Odin's men will be searching for us. It is only a matter of time before they find him."

"I see," Arthur said, his expression grim.

"My father is an old man. He cannot fend for himself," she continued.

Mordred's hands clenched into fists. He wasn't looking at the Princess anymore. Now he was staring fixedly at her 'servant', hearing his blood pounding in his ears.

"I have no one else to turn to but you, Arthur," Mithian pleaded. "You're my last hope."

The King and Queen exchanged a weighted glance.

"Mithian, I understand how you must be feeling, and I will do everything in my power to help you," Arthur told her.

Mithian sucked in a small gasp and more tears fell down her face. "Thank you, my Lord."

Mordred could feel his nails digging into his palms. Those were not tears of relief. He could almost taste the desperation in the air. Mithian's 'servant' turned to glance at the crying princess and Mordred caught her eye.

 **This is cruel, Morgana.**

Her green eyes flickered over his face, unimpressed, before she returned her focus straight ahead. It was an obvious dismissal. Mordred clenched his jaw and looked from Emrys, who was busy helping Mithian, to the King and Queen. Mordred was half tempted to contact Arthur's mind out of sheer spite. A large hand rested on his shoulder and he used Percival's comforting presence to ground himself. Revealing his magic wouldn't help anyone. He'd be a Druid sorcerer accusing a noble of treason. He had to be patient and confide in Emrys once they were alone.

* * *

Arthur gathered the knights in his royal chambers to discuss the plan. They were all gathered around the table with the map laid out, before Mordred caught up with them. He turned to shut the door after them, knowing that everyone who was leaving on the mission was already present... not to mention the disquieted Queen. Merlin strode over to intercept him, causing him to halt in mid-movement.

 **"We need to speak about Princess Mithian,"** Mordred informed him.

Merlin was thrown by the unexpected mental contact, but recovered quickly. _"It can wait. Arthur's about to go over his strategy,"_ he thought back, saying aloud "You still want to help?"

 **"This is important,"** Mordred insisted while outwardly nodding in response to the spoken question.

 _"So is this."_

Mordred began to shut the door, but Merlin caught it.

"Not so fast," Merlin corrected, holding up a bottle of purplish liquid. "This needs to be delivered to Princess Mithian's chambers. I'll meet you in Gaius' chambers once we're finished here."

Mordred let out a heavy sigh and accepted the bottle that Merlin handed him.

"Thank you," Merlin acknowledged, waiting to shut the door behind him.

Mordred turned back in the doorway to give him a warning look.

"I know." The older mage returned the look with a stern one of his own. After all, Emrys had been guarding the King well enough on his own since Mordred was only a child. He wasn't thrilled with being underestimated.

"Problem?" Percival inquired as Merlin reclaimed his place beside him.

"Stubborn patient," Merlin dismissed with a shake of his head.

Gwaine chuckled. Arthur and his knights accepted the excuse without a second thought, and continued with their meeting. Gwen was the only one who showed no sign of amusement, keeping a worried eye on her husband. Mordred wasn't alone in his misgivings regarding this course of action.

* * *

As he reached the guest chambers, Mordred heard a pained cry, followed by a muffled thump. He identified the high pitched creak of Morgana's false voice threatening Mithian inside the room. Mordred couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but it didn't sound friendly. He reached up and wrapped the knuckles of his left hand on the door in a brisk rhythm. Another speech from Morgana to the Princess, this one doubtlessly a warning. Then she pulled the door open to greet him with a false smile on her aged face. Mordred returned it with equal insincerity and held up the parchment-wrapped bottle.

"What's this?" Morgana asked, accepting the delivery with a calculating look.

Mordred gestured to the parchment. For once, he was enjoying his temporary muteness. He studied the interior of the room for any clues to what Morgana and her captive were truly up to while the Priestess was busy. There was an enchanted bracelet peeking out from under Mithian's sleeve. He locked eyes with her. She shook her head emphatically in response.

"Hmm..." Morgana looked up from the instructions that Merlin had written out. "Your medicine, Princess," she relayed, and turned to Mordred, sneering. "Cat got your tongue?"

Mordred flashed her a sarcastic gesture, confirming her joking accusation in the rudest way possible.

"He's a mute," Mithian realized, looking both embarrassed and relieved. "Forgive us. She did not know."

The smirk had dropped off of Morgana's face to be replaced by something far more bitter. "No. I did not."

Mordred bowed politely to the Princess and pinned the Witch with a frosty glare. **"I'm warning you, Morgana, whatever scheme you're hatching, abandon it while you still can. I have no wish to see you suffer."** He turned and began to walk away, but Morgana's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Leaving so soon? If I didn't know better, I'd think that something had caught your eye."

(Mordred narrows his eyes in response to the Witch's apparent showmanship before he looks back over his shoulder at Princess Mithian.)

The Princess mouthed, "Run!" to Mordred, looking genuinely afraid for his life. He could feel Morgana's magic building around her. He turned and fled, but a wave of invisible force knocked him to the ground before he'd gone more than a few paces.

"Or someone," Morgana amended, watching her son immediately push himself up off the floor and shake off his disorientation. "Stubborn," she chided, reaching out and knocking him flat on his face with an effortless gesture. "Stay where you are, Princess. I think you've already done enough damage for one day," Morgana ordered, kneeling down and pulling the stunned Druid into her lap. He began to reach a hand up to defend himself but Morgana deftly pinned it down. "No."

"Please, don't hurt him! He's nobody- He's a mute! He can do nothing to ruin your plans," Mithian pleaded, frozen in terror in the doorway.

"I warned you that there would be consequences," Morgana replied, pulling a moonstone amulet from under her robes. Mordred struggled in her grip and tried to pull away, but she held fast.

 **"** Diegol cnytte, ādumbian ghwæs," Morgana incanted, pressing the amulet to the back of his neck, and he felt a thick fog invade his mind. It seemed Mordred's ex-mentor had power that she'd concealed even from him.

Mordred let out a wordless mental scream, searching desperately for help.

The witch's grip on him tightened painfully, and with a flash of her eyes, his scream was silenced. "I am sorry, Little Lamb, but I'm afraid I must stop you before you do anything too lamentably foolish."

Mordred felt every muscle in his body relax. His panic settled into the back of his mind to form a numb, droning lull. Mordred was lost in the foreign silence. Morgana's aged arms still cradled him, but he could no longer feel her familiar presence. She was illusory, hollowed out like everything else. Mordred let out a desperate little whine. He had never felt this isolated before in his life.

"Shhhh," Morgana coaxed, running a hand through his hair. Mordred ceased his last effort at resistance and let his mind drift, lying helpless in her lap. He was still breathing a little too fast, but the terror had drained from his expression. "Good boy. It's not so bad once you stop fighting it," Morgana soothed.

"What have you done to him?!" Mithian demanded in a trembling voice.

Morgana smirked and placed a tender kiss on the top of Mordred's head before she moved him out of her lap and stood.

The Princess couldn't help but grimace in response to the twisted gesture.

"You see this?" The Priestess held up the amulet. It glowed ethereally for a moment. "His essence. The boy is mine. You behave yourself, Mithian, and he will not have anything to worry about."

Princess Mithian's wide eyes looked from the amulet, to Mordred's blank stare.

"I've learned my lesson. I swear it! You do not have to hurt him anymore."

There was a brief silence. "I believe you." Morgana tucked the amulet back under her robes.

"We cannot just leave him like this. Someone will suspect..." Mithian ventured.

"You will follow my lead."

"Of course, Morgana," Mithian nervously agreed, trying and failing to stop staring at Mordred. "His face..."

"He will adjust," Morgana dismissed, keeping her tone non-committal. In reality the spell was merely a binding. Her rebellious son would remain intact-if frightened-within his undetectable prison.

Mordred felt slender arms hook under his, joined shortly by two more under his legs. The two women were hauling him over to the nearby stairwell. They stopped and the stronger grip lowered his torso down, draping his upper body over the steps.

"I'm sorry," Mithian whispered, into his ear. "I'm so..."

"Why, Mistress, you've just had a nasty shock. Go ahead and give us your best performance," Morgana taunted, enjoying her moment of vengeance over her traitorous son. She had no way of knowing the peril she had just put him in. After all, Emrys was no longer the only creature of wild magic lingering close enough to respond to Mordred's cry.

"I don't understand your meaning…" Princess Mithian questioned.

The Priestess grinned. "Scream."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading, guys. I know this is short but the next one will be longer..probably. Special thanks to _Agana of the Night_ for taking the time to revew. Feedback is fuel for my writing engines folks! ...okay, that sounded strange, but I'm sticking with it.

Morgana's spell: "I bind you, I silence you in every way entirely."


	14. Speak Little, Say Much

**Chapter 2: Speak Little, Say Much**

"Rodor has taken cover here," Arthur said, pointing down at a location on the map around which they were all gathered. "It is the ancient tomb of King Lothor, three leagues from our border."

"Mithian can lead us there?" Leon inquired.

"She's recovering well," Gaius confirmed.

"Now our only chance of getting Rodor back is with speed and stealth. A small group of kn-knights," Arthur faltered, feeling an inexplicable wave of panic and disorientation wash over him, like a scream without sound. He cleared his throat, trying to brush it off and continued as though nothing had happened.

At his place across from the King, behind Gaius' left shoulder, Merlin flinched, perceiving the full force of the clairvoyant distress call. He turned reflexively to look back in the direction it had come from.

"We could be over the border and back again in a number of hours," Elyan noted, oblivious to the two men's distraction.

Arthur tried to ignore the inexplicable feeling of dread that continued to linger in the pit of his stomach, and replied, "Exactly."

"Sire, if I may?"

"Yes, Gaius," Arthur acknowledged, looking up from his absent regard of the map.

"Odin has long wanted your blood," the Physician cautioned. "If you are discovered, you could have an army at your back."

The knights looked questioningly at their King, while Gwen's sharp gaze pierced into him.

"That's true, but Odin doesn't know where Rodor is and we do. By the time he realizes what's happened we'll be long gone," Arthur replied easily.

The Queen sat back in her chair on the far end of the table, clearly less than thrilled by the swift dismissal.

"Now we'll camp out he-" Arthur's next sentence was interrupted by an audible scream from down the hall. Everyone's head snapped up. Arthur and Merlin, already put on edge by the mental disturbance, were the first ones out the door.

* * *

"Help! Somebody please help!" Mithian cried out, leaning over the crumpled figure who was lying across the stairs. Her maid pushed herself to her feet to address them as Arthur, Percival and Merlin rounded the corner.

"Mordred," Merlin confirmed his own dark suspicions, staring down at the unnaturally vacant-looking teen. Arthur knelt down opposite Mithian, barely paying the others any mind.

"The boy must've slipped," 'Helga' explained. "My Mistress ran out to see what caused the clatter and we found him just lying here."

Merlin narrowed his eyes in response to the unlikely story but knew better than to question it aloud.

"Gaius," Arthur prompted a little too harshly, without looking up from his own cursory inspection of his ward.

"If you will excuse me, Princess Mithian," Gaius politely requested, guessing from the look in the King's eyes that trying to get him to move away would be pointless.

"Oh, yes of course," she moved out of his way, retreating to stand with Helga by the doorway to her room.

Gaius tilted Mordred's head up to check his pupils. Then felt the back of his skull for signs of a fracture.

"Well?" Arthur queried.

"It appears that Sir Mordred has sustained a concussion. There doesn't seem to be any swelling, but I will need to do a more thorough examination once we get him back to his chambers."

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, taking in a deep, calming breath. He had already lost too many family members to take even this fleeting threat very well. Percival had stepped forward when the King reopened his eyes, but Arthur waved him off. "No. I've got him," he declared, slipping his arms under his disturbingly pliant nephew. Arthur carried him after Gaius, ignoring Merlin's scowl as he passed. It wasn't actually directed at Arthur, anyway, but rather at Mithian's ever-present servant.

She was watching Arthur carry Mordred away with an unreadable expression on her face. _He was trying to warn me,_ Merlin recalled, hurrying after Gaius.

* * *

Bran darted anxiously about Mordred's bedroom, whining and scuffing at the furniture with his paws while Arthur placed Mordred on the bed and Merlin pulled the blankets over him.

"Control that beast, would you? I need room to work," Gaius directed, opening his medicine bag.

Arthur retreated to the other side of the chamber and whistled. "Bran," he directed, sitting in the armchair and clicking his fingers. Bran hesitantly complied, resting his head on the King's knee. Merlin waited until Arthur had allowed himself to get suitably occupied with calming the wolf, then leaned closer to address Gaius in hushed tones.

"Have you found anything unusual?"

"Not as such..." Gaius responded, his eyebrow arched.

"Gaius?"

"On the contrary, Merlin. Despite his symptoms I cannot find any physical evidence of an injury. However, I have witnessed head injuries before that were well hidden from detection. I cannot say definitively that that is not the case here."

"It isn't," Merlin concluded. "I felt Mordred scream shortly before he was found, and before I sent him to Mithian's quarters he was trying to warn me about a threat to Arthur."

"You believe that he may have witnessed something."

"He did."

"You cannot go to Arthur with this," Gaius advised, stealing another glance at the man in question. "You have no way to explain it yet without revealing your magic, as well as Sir Mordred's."

"I can't do nothing," Merlin snapped in a harsh whisper.

"That may be all that you can do at the present time. I will do what I can for Sir Mordred. Until he recovers, you must keep a close eye on King Arthur and make certain that he does not fall victim to the same fate."

"Oh, is that all?" Merlin remarked. "Guard Arthur against the same unidentified magical curse that turned a frighteningly intelligent, Druid sorcerer, trained from infancy - into a turnip. Yes, why would that be a problem?"

"Your sarcasm notwithstanding, Merlin, it seems that we have little choice," Gaius replied.

* * *

Later that night, Arthur sat at his desk in the royal chambers, peering over maps of Nemeth. He was only half seeing them, distracted by the events of the past few hours. Bran was curled up beside his chair, having been rejected from his master's quarters by the Court Physician. Arthur was the wolf's second favorite human anyway, so he'd ended up with them.

"Arthur?" Gwen called softly from the sleeping area. She was standing just beyond the screen, watching him with concern. "Why have you agreed to help Mithian?"

"Nemeth is our ally."

"One small slip and Camelot could find itself without a King," she persisted, walking towards him.

"That's a risk I'm prepared to take," Arthur returned, running his gaze over the map in front of him.

"For Nemeth, or for yourself?"

He looked up at Gwen, seeing the seriousness in her face. "What do you mean 'for myself'?"

"It was Odin who took your father's life," Gwen recalled. "You can't tell me that you haven't been waiting for a chance to retaliate."

Arthur stood and walked over to her. "However I may feel about Odin, it has nothing to do with this."

"Really?"

"Absolutely not. This is about helping our friends, no more, no less," Arthur assured her, taking both her hands in his.

"Good," she accepted. "I just wanted to be sure."

"You were right to ask," Arthur told her. "I rely on your honesty, Guinevere, and I love you for it." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple. Gwen smiled softly up at him, but it faded from her face the moment he turned back towards his desk. She could always tell when her husband was lying, even to himself.

* * *

Mithian snapped her eyes open. There had been complete silence in her chambers for a while now, and she was pretty sure that meant her captor was finally asleep. She lifted her head up to look, letting out the breath that she'd been holding upon finding that she was indeed correct. She slipped out of bed and crept cautiously over. Morgana's hand was still grasping the keys to Mithian's chambers. The princess reached for them, but hesitated. She thought of that boy lying prone in her arms just a few hours ago. He had tried to help her, and if she was caught now, he might very well suffer for it. _If I do nothing, he and his friends may all die, s_ he reminded herself.

Steeling herself, Mithian eased the keys out from under the sleeping sorceress' hand and slipped her comb into their place. Then she fled from the room as quickly as she could without waking Morgana, making a mad dash for the royal chambers. She was only a few meters shy of freedom when Morgana stepped out of the shadows in front of her.

"Going somewhere?"

Mithian felt her heart skip a beat. She'd been caught. Now they would all pay, and it would be her fault. "No! No, you are mistaken. I was just- Ah!" The bracelet around her right wrist glowed fiery red, burning into her flesh. She dropped to her knees, gasping in pain.

"Did you really think that you could go to Arthur behind my back?" Morgana asked, as if discussing the weather.

"You are mistaken!" Mithian whimpered out, cradling her wrist in her lap. "I-I was just..." She trailed off in terror, seeing the sorceress' hand reach for the amulet hidden away under her robes. "No! Wait!"

"I keep trying to explain to you the consequences of your actions," Morgana lamented. "Alas, you do not seem to understand."

"No! Forgive me! I understand! I swear it!"

"If you betray me again..." Morgana threatened.

"I'm sorry. Please! I've learned my lesson," Mithian sobbed, staring unblinkingly up at Morgana's hand. The witch's eyes flashed brightly and the bracelet returned to its inert state. She let her hand fall back to her side. Mithian sucked in a shaky gasp in relief. They still had a chance. She had to believe that. There was still hope left.

Gwen stepped out into the hall, drawn out of her chambers by the sound of voices and caught sight of Mithian on the floor. "Is everything all right?"

Morgana bent over and took hold of Mithian's forearms, slowly pulling her to her feet. "Play along and I'll spare his life," she whispered into her captive's ear, once again leaving the details of her threat to Mithian's imagination. She then addressed the Queen. "My Mistress was feeling a little faint, that's all. We were just getting some air."

"Well, I hope you're feeling better now," Gwen said sympathetically.

"Much better, thank you," Mithian replied, somehow managing to keep her voice steady.

"We won't detain you any longer, my Lady," Helga said graciously. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Gwen responded, pulling her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders. "Sleep well." She watched Helga steer Princess Mithian back to her chambers, and felt a sense of foreboding in her gut. Gwen was uncertain of why the night around her seemed colder in their wake.

* * *

The next morning, Arthur stopped in the doorway of Mordred's quarters on his way to join his knights. The pitcher left on the bedside table had been smashed at some point-probably during the night- and George, the servant charged with looking after Mordred, was cleaning up the mess in respectful silence. The blankets were piled up at the foot of the bed and Arthur could see a few tears in the sheets left over from his nephew's thrashing. Merlin came up behind him with a bedroll tucked under his arm.

"Sire," he greeted. _Great_. Merlin using 'Sire' straight away usually meant bad tidings.

George looked at the other servant somewhat sourly as he stood. Merlin smiled and stepped out of his way as if he hadn't noticed. Although, it occurred to Arthur that maybe he actually hadn't. Merlin hadn't bothered to look at the other servant until he was already out in the hall, even when smiling-presumably- at said servant.

"Is there something that you want to say to me, Merlin?" Arthur prompted.

"I need to talk to you about this quest," Merlin told him, then indicated Mordred's sleeping form with a jerk of his head. "And also about him..." Once again, his gaze didn't even twitch toward- _Oh_. There was a beat of uncomfortable silence between them.

"You think I shouldn't go," Arthur responded simply, dealing with the issue that he understood first.

"You agree?"

"No. That's just what you always say."

"You always ignore me," Merlin countered.

"I fail to see what this has to do with Sir Mordred. He's a knight. He knows the importance of this quest, apparently better than you do," Arthur said flippantly, crossing his arms over his chest in a subconscious, defensive gesture. He was not unaware of the undesirable habit that he was forming; the last time that Mordred was in such a vulnerable state, Arthur had abandoned him in order to save Merlin. Now he was doing much the same for the sake of King Rodor.

"There's something more to this that we're still missing. When I sent Mordred to deliver the Princess' prescription, he was upset about something. He kept trying to tell me but I was too distracted. Then this happens to him. I think that he might have witnessed something, Arthur, something he wasn't meant to see, and I'm pretty sure that it's deadly."

Arthur leaned against the door frame, considering Merlin's suspicions while George passed between them to fetch the pile of bedclothes.

"Do you have any tangible evidence to support this theory?"

"I don't," Merlin admitted, matching Arthur's muted voice. "But you know that it doesn't make sense. Sir Mordred supposedly just tripped and fell down the stairs? Mordred? Even if he weren't naturally light-footed, he was due back in the Physician's Chambers after that delivery. Why was he heading in the exact opposite direction? It makes no sense."

"I agree, but do you really want me to sound the alarm that there might be a sorcerer in our midst right before we leave town?" Arthur pointed out, keeping his mouth hidden behind his hand to hinder the nosy servant's prying. George passed between them again, carrying an armful of dirty clothes out of the room along with the sheets. "Even the subtlest suggestion would cause panic," Arthur continued once he was out of earshot.

"Maybe we should postpone the quest," Merlin suggested, surprised that Arthur had so readily inferred the true nature of the threat on his own.

"You're right. Why didn't I think of that? Let's just postpone the quest," Arthur agreed flippantly, turning to face him. "I'm sure that Princess Mithian will understand completely why I am breaking my word based on hearsay and leaving her father to die."

Merlin stared at him.

"I'll post guards out in the hall until we get back. Until we have tangible proof of the threat, the quest must go ahead as planned," the King concluded.

"We both know that Sir Mordred can't be the true target. You could be killed!" Merlin cautioned.

"Regardless, the King of Camelot cannot be seen to betray his allies."

* * *

Merlin followed Arthur out into the courtyard and began to load up his horse, while Arthur hung back by the entrance to speak with Sir Leon about their suspicions. Helga was struggling to climb onto the horse that stood behind Merlin. He observed this coldly, not feeling so willing to help the suspicious maid as he normally would be. She was a threat, and quite possibly involved in whatever dark magic had put Mordred into a trance. He had stopped by to check on Mordred's status that morning, and found him returned to a childlike state. It reminded Merlin far too keenly of the trusting little boy who'd clung to him for protection while they hid in Morgana's quarters all those years ago. Like an unwelcome ghost from Merlin's past who had always been right there waiting for him.

 _"Do you remember what happened to you? Who did this to you?" Merlin had asked, slipping into the chair that Arthur had moved to Mordred's bedside._

 _Mordred only continued to watch him with a wan smile that clashed horribly with his mournful eyes. Merlin told himself that it was just his mind playing tricks on him in the dimness of the morning light. He wasn't interested in meeting Mordred's eye as things were. It was too difficult._

 _"Can you understand me at all?"_

 _Mordred nodded. Those ethereal blue eyes were still watching Merlin, still haunting him._

 _"Why won't you speak to me?"_

 _Mordred shook his head, toying with the edge of his fur throw and Merlin's frown deepened._

 _"No one else is here. Just contact my mind the way that you... the way you always do." The warlock finally dragged his gaze up to focus on Mordred's face. It hadn't been a trick of the light. A tear rolled down Mordred's cheek. His eyes were screaming._

 _"You can't... Your magic's been bound," Merlin realized, feeling the hairs rise on the back of his neck. "Was this-" He didn't see how Princess Mithian could have learned of Mordred's magic. Even then, she had none of her own to curse him with, but he didn't believe in coincidences. "Did Princess Mithian have anything to do with this?"_

 _Mordred sucked in a sharp breath and his hands fisted in the blankets._

 _"Or her servant, Helga?"_

 _Mordred's knuckles were turning white. He opened his mouth, letting out only the scant beginnings of a creaking cry before it was cut off unnaturally; his mouth snapped shut as if an invisible hand had clamped down on his jaw. Mordred shook his head and flopped back against the pillows. He was giving up._

 _"No, no, no! You have to fight it," Merlin leaned over him to retain eye-contact, his heart hammering in his chest. "Don't you want to be whole again? I need to know who did this! I need to stop them!" he insisted, seeing the last glimmer of Mordred's true personality fading from his eyes. "No. Stay with me. Mordred!" Frustrated, Merlin reached out and grabbed the Druid's arm to shake him. A burst of dark magic knocked him back into the chair, prompting a reflexive rush of his own bright golden magic to boil away the water in the pitcher beside him so rapidly that it exploded. Mordred tossed and turned, lashing out and tearing at his coverings like a wild animal caught in a snare._ _ **Emrys**_ _!_ _ **It'satrap!It'sM-**_ _Mordred's rapidly-compressed warning was cut off with a jarring surge of dark magic. The childish front returned, unadulterated, and he stopped struggling. A few steaming shards of pitcher tumbled off of Mordred's blanketed shoulder as he shifted to lie on his side, facing the window, effectively turning his back on the astonished guardian. The real Mordred was locked away, well out of Merlin's reach anyway. Replaced by his unwanted specter.._

In the present, Gwaine saw the old woman struggling and came over to lift her into the saddle, shooting the stone-faced servant a questioning glance. Merlin turned around and finished securing his supplies. _I hope the old crone falls off her horse,_ he thought bitterly, feeling only somewhat repentant after he pictured it.

* * *

Queen Guinevere watched through the window as her husband, his knights and their allies rode out of the palace courtyard. They had ridden without Gaius, seeing as he would likely be needed to tend to his newest patient. She knew that Merlin was experienced enough now to be considered a healer in his own right. The change of plan bothered her more because of the issue that it accentuated: Mordred's accident just didn't sit right with Gwen; Mithian's behavior hadn't seemed natural to her, and the timing... it all stank of perfidy.

She turned away from the window to see Sir Patrick walking up to meet her. The young blond inclined his head in deference to her status. "Queen Guinevere."

"What is it?" Gwen had never seen the novice knight looking quite this grave before.

"Sir Leon has instructed me to ensure your safety in the King's absence. His Majesty suspects that magic may have been involved in Sir Mordred's fall."

Gwen straightened her posture, turning to face her bodyguard fully. "I see. I had my own suspicions as well. Who else knows of this?"

"Just Sir William, Gaius and a handful of the palace guards. The Court Physician has remained in Sir Mordred's quarters given the current circumstances."

"I think it is high time that I speak with him. I assume that a couple of those guards you mentioned are stationed in the Knights' Quarter?" Gwen verified, heading towards the corridor in question.

"Yes, Ma'am, and two more outside your chambers," Sir Patrick confirmed, following a step behind her.

"Good."

* * *

They were both taken aback by the sight that met them once they entered the corridor that housed Round Table Members. Two palace guards were trying their best not to hurt a struggling Mordred while he tried to pull away. He was attempting to flee towards Gwen and Sir Patrick's end of the corridor while George did his best to talk him out of it.

"Please, My Lord," the servant politely requested, venturing closer once the guards had managed to sustain their grip on the writhing teenager's arms. "You are still unwell. If you would see fit, I would be honored to attend-" Mordred wriggled his left arm free and pushed George away. The guard who still had a hold of him swore when his wriggling charge elbowed him in the stomach.

"'Honored,' my backside. You 'bout found it, Gaius?" the guard shouted impatiently. Mordred twisted out of his grip and darted away.

"Oh my goodness!" Gwen rushed forward to intercept him. "Hold," she instructed the pursuing guards, catching Mordred under his arms when he stumbled. He reflexively started to pull away, but Gwen gently replaced her grip, shushing him, until he stopped. "Mordred? It's all right. You know me."

Mordred looked up from her hands on his arms to study her face. He nodded.

Gwen smiled softly, seeing him begin to relax. "That's it. Where were you going in such a hurry?"

Mordred scowled at the floor for a second, plagued by a combination of frustration and worry. Then he reached up and grabbed the Queen's sleeve, giving her a meaningful look.

"I see," she said with a soft smile. "You were worried about me?"

Mordred just scowled at the floor again. He hated this curse that Morgana had inflicted upon him. He was more than worried about the royal couple. He was afraid. For the King and Queen, for Camelot, for Emrys, and Princess Mithian-and yes, regardless of what she'd done, he was worried for Morgana's sake as well.

"Well, it seems that we've found each other," Gwen coaxed. "Walk with me?"

Mordred nodded and allowed the Queen to guide him back to his room. Gaius was watching them from the doorway with a damp cloth ready in his hand. He walked back into the room once they neared the doorway, returning it to a saucer on the wash stand.

"As you were," Gwen directed the guards, and they returned to their posts on either side of the door. Sir Patrick nodded once to them on his way into the room. George was the last one in, giving Sir Patrick a swift once-over when the Knight shut the door behind him.

"Queen Guinevere," Gaius acknowledged. "I must thank you for that. I cannot be certain how well the valerian tonic would've worked on Sir Mordred without knowing which spell was used."

"You're certain, then?" Sir Patrick asked, not quite keeping the anxiety out of his voice. This would be his first time guarding a noble and his first magical incident as well.

"I hope that you can forgive me for this incident, Ma'am," George simpered to the Queen, resting a hand on Mordred's shoulder. "I'm afraid Milord is getting rather difficu-"

The obstinate Druid pushed him away by the face, again preempting the attempted removal.

"With respect, my Lord!"

"Mordred," Gwen chastened, sounding oddly-maternal. "I'm sorry, George. You can leave him in my care for now."

George gave an overly deep bow, ignoring his Lord's eye-roll, and went back to cleaning the already tidy room. Sir Patrick watched this and exchanged a look with the other knight that simply communicated, 'Yeesh!' without him having actually to say anything sympathetic. That was just the power of George's irksomeness. It brought people together.

"Merlin visited here early this morning and witnessed a flare in the spell. We cannot be certain whether it was the timing that caused it or something else. When he touched Sir Mordred's shoulder to wake him, an unnatural energy discharged and pushed him away," Gaius explained. "I can only assume that it was a mechanism meant to preserve the working. Many binding spells have similar safeguards."

"Binding spells?" Gwen echoed, taking a seat in the armchair. Mordred plopped down on the floor to sit in front of her. "Oh, don't-"

He leaned back against her shins, unperturbed, weaving a leather cord into intricate knots with his fingers.

"Never mind," the Queen conceded, patting the top of his head. "I knew that something wasn't right as soon as he was discovered. Mordred was not a clumsy child. He is even less so now," she recalled. Sir Patrick's brows neared his hairline in response to the revelation that his fellow novice had known the Queen in his childhood. Perhaps Mordred wasn't such a wild thing as Patrick's father thought.

"We need to retrace his steps. There might still be something along his path that could give us a clue as to who and what he witnessed," Guinevere thought aloud.

"Merlin and I took the liberty of doing so this morning. It would seem that Sir Mordred was with either one of us, or one of the other knights for most of the day. The only anomaly seems to be where he was found," Gaius informed the Queen.

"What do you mean?" Sir Patrick inquired.

Mordred held up the prayer knot that he'd woven for the Queen.

"Yes, very nice," she accommodated him, distracted by the discussion at hand. He indicated her hand as Gaius began to speak and she let him tie his creation around her wrist.

"Sir Mordred was due back in the Physicians' Chambers to meet us once he made that delivery to Princess Mithian. He had been assisting us until he was fit to resume training. Instead he was found on the stairs near the guest chambers."

"That stairwell leads out to the parapet. He had no reason to be there..." Gwen stared down at the top of Mordred's head, deep in thought. "Gaius, I fear that the true danger may have followed my husband out into the woods this morning."

* * *

After hours of riding through the forest, Arthur called for a brief pause to rest and refill their waterskins. Merlin walked over and lifted Princess Mithian down off of her horse. Her sleeve slid down an inch or so as he released her and he noticed the burn around her wrist.

"What's..." Merlin's gentle expression sharpened to pierce into her eyes. "How did you get this?"

"I-I, um," Mithian's gaze flicked to her nearing maid and back to his face in literally the blink of an eye. "Odin's men bound my wrists. B-before I escaped."

"Oh. You didn't mention that before." Merlin let go of her wrist. Mithian's eyes were silently pleading with him.

"It's a traumatic memory. I'm sure she doesn't want to dwell on it," Helga supplied resting one spidery hand on the frightened Princess' shoulder.

"Right. I'm sorry. It's just. I've got a balm for that. It should help you with the pain," Merlin said, playing the familiar part of the bumbling, idiot servant. "I'll grab it for you once I'm done refilling these." He held up the waterskins with a disarming smile.

"That reminds me." Helga tossed him hers. For a woman her age she sure had a mean throwing arm. "If you would be so kind?" She smiled at him insincerely.

"No problem," Merlin replied with equally-false warmth and walked off toward the stream. He cleared his throat loudly as he passed by Arthur. It was far enough away that the women had little chance of noticing their movements. Arthur still took his time to follow just in case.

Merlin tossed a waterskin to the prat as he reached the edge of the water. "You took your time."

"What is it now, _Mer_ lin, or are you just trying to get out of working?" Arthur replied, filling the vessel despite his words.

"Mithian has a burn around her wrist. It's almost as if she were scalded by a cuff or a bracelet of some kind. When I asked her about it, she said that Odin's men had tied her up."

"Maybe they did."

"I don't think so. Her fear seemed more immediate than that," Merlin disagreed, giving the canteen in his hand a penetrating look as he thought of Mithian's aged maid.

"War can scar people, Merlin, in spirit as much as body. You haven't seen what the horrors of war can do to a person's mind."

Merlin straightened up and pinned Arthur with a look that made the King want to take a step back- or maybe five. That uncharacteristic coldness really merited five. "It can make a tiny, innocent little boy into the most terrifying monster you've ever seen, or it can rob you of sleep for weeks on end because every time the wood of the window-frame creaks too loudly you can hear the women and children screaming. You see all the blood and the death and you see him, and you wish that it was a nightmare. It makes you have to keep reminding yourself who the monsters are because if they aren't..." Merlin trailed off, his face a reflection of some of Arthur's darkest moments. Then suddenly the alien temperament snapped back like a bowstring. Merlin's eyelashes fluttered as if he were recovering from a blow and he added in a much more Merlin-sounding voice "You probably won't take my word for it. Just ask Sir Mordred why he counts the exits whenever he moves through the palace."

Arthur reeled from the shock, even after reorienting himself from the disturbingly intimate retelling-because that's what it had to be, because this was Merlin \- the follow up cost him more. It took a long, silent moment for the King to recover from that last, unexpected sucker punch to the proverbial groin.

Merlin saw the look on his friend's face as the pieces began to fall together, and his heart stopped. He realized what he'd just done. "I am so sorry! Arthur. That wasn't... I shouldn't have said that." He hadn't meant to say any of it. After all Arthur had been the one to lead the charge into the Druid camp that day. Merlin had been focused solely on stopping Mordred. As far as anyone but the two mages knew, he had never been there.

Arthur winced. Now that he was thinking about it, Mordred did do that a lot... and more. The look on Mordred's face when Arthur had first tried to offer him sanctuary flashed through his mind, the look on his face that implied Arthur should know better.

 _"You must have people..."_

 _"They were killed."_

Arthur had never consciously registered the meaning behind the rapid flitting about of his nephew's sharp-eyed gaze whenever they entered a room - until now. The King shook his head, feeling nauseous and numb at the same time. "You weren't wrong."

"I still shouldn't have said it," Merlin repeated. He had too much of his own internal upheaval overwhelming his thoughts. He hadn't meant to inflict any of it upon Arthur. "What- Uh, what was I getting at before?" He stopped and took another calming breath, feeling like dirt. "There is something off about the maid, Helga. I think that Mithian is afraid of her."

"I will keep my eyes open." There was a moment of too-heavy silence between them, which the King decided to break almost hesitantly, "How does it feel to be the clotpole, eh Merlin?"

Merlin smiled weakly. "Luckily for me the moment passed, but you will always be a Royal Prat."

Arthur forced a smile of his own for Merlin's sake. "Come on, we still need to make the border by sundown," he ordered, leading the way back to the horses.

* * *

Gaius packed up his medical bag and left Mordred's chamber while the others were busy in their own conversations, or in the Queen's case, teaching Mordred to play a weaving game with a loop of leather cord. If Gaius didn't know better he would have said that Gwen was enjoying the boy's unexpected second childhood. He did know better, though, so he only thought it.

Guinevere noticed the old Physician leaving and asked George to hold her place in the game for a moment, chasing after Gaius. "Wait, you're leaving so soon?" she asked, catching up to him outside the doorway.

"I am afraid that there is little that I can do for Sir Mordred until I know for certain what caused this."

Gwen walked with him until they were a discreet distance away from the guards.

"Is there truly nothing more that we can do for him?"

"Your presence seems to calm him, perhaps even strengthen his agency. I believe that he has already begun trying to communicate with you."

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked, her brow crinkling slightly in confusion.

"He went in search of you; you thought that perhaps he was concerned about your safety. He lingers in your presence, at your side or in front of you, not unlike a guard, and then there is that bracelet that he made you."

The Queen looked down at the woven leather around her wrist.

"It is a druid prayer knot. If I am not mistaken, that particular pattern is a Quaternary Knot," Gaius explained, pointing at the centerpiece. "They are often used as a symbol of spiritual protection."

Gwen ran her fingertip over the pattern, deep in thought.

"In this infantile state the main concern now may be coercing Sir Mordred to lead us to answers in whatever way is left to him," Gaius theorized. "Without knowing the true purpose of the spell or what triggers it, my research will be very limited. I do not believe that you would prefer to push him until we can break his resistance to it."

"No. There is another way. A gentler touch will work. I'm certain of it," Gwen stated determinedly.

"As I thought," Gaius concurred, but he stopped her when she turned to head back into Mordred's room. "Queen Guinevere, I feel that I should remind you that the boy you see in him now is just an illusion. The binding spell is making Mordred childlike in order to limit him. It would be best to keep that truth in mind."

Guinevere inclined her head regally, "Thank you, Gaius." Despite her formal acknowledgement, the Queen did not seem comfortable with his advice, confirming Gaius' suspicion that perhaps the guise of the knight's bewitchment appealed to her more than it should. "I know that it is the binding causing Mordred to be this way but he is still bound by it. He is my friend, and he is still in there somewhere. I only wish to help him return to us safely, just as I know he would for me."

* * *

That evening, Mordred smiled as he followed Gwen into the gardens, reaching out to greet Bran with a well-deserved scratch behind the ears. Sir Patrick and George both hung back by the doorway to the castle, eying the animal warily. It had not been nearly as easy for George to deal with his Lord while the Queen was off handling matters of Court, but still the apparent bond between the orphan and their Queen struck him as inappropriate. Such things simply were not done.

"Are you certain about this, Your Majesty?" Sir Patrick questioned, more troubled by the insecurity of their comparatively open surroundings than he was of imagined impropriety.

"I think that I am perfectly safe here with both you and Bran to guard me," Gwen answered, leaning down to smell a freshly blossoming rose as she continued, "Besides, the fresh air might do us all some good." She gave the knight a significant look while Mordred's back was turned. It confirmed his suspicions. Gaius had consulted the Queen privately about the curse; she was trying to find a catalyst and cause another flare in the defense mechanism. Why the Queen thought it appropriate to involve herself so personally in the younger knight's treatment was beyond him. The reason not to, was plain as day: the Queen mattered; the boy didn't - and yet here they were.

Gwen watched Bran rolling around in a recently-tilled flowerbed, with an affectionate smile. The wolf suddenly stopped and cocked its head as if hearing something that none of the others could, then turned towards his master, sniffing the air. Mordred was trailing the fingers of his bandaged hand behind him across the wall-climbing rose vines as he walked away. He seemed unnervingly oblivious to the dark red stains trailing from his touch, not quite enough to drip from the sharp thorns.

"Sir Mordred, are you all right?" Gwen asked, watching him wander with an almost dreamlike calm towards the untouched inner garden. No one had entered that section of the royal gardens since Queen Igraine's death, but the wild mass of ivy, stone and yellow roses was clearly where the teen was headed. "Mordred?!"

Bran jumped up just as Mordred reached the edge of the natural barrier and darted through a wolf-sized parting in the overgrowth. Mordred inclined his head slightly, scrutinizing the tangle of roses and ivy before him. It was almost as though it was not a mass of green that he was regarding, but rather, a person.

"Sir Mordred?" Sir Patrick asked, his hand hovering uncertainly by the hilt of his sword.

Mordred looked into her face and the woman smiled. She opened her arms in welcome as the vines seemed to embrace her. No, she was sinking back into them even as she beckoned him closer. Mordred reached out to accept her outstretched hand, but just as the tips of their fingers almost touched-

"Mordred!" Gwen grabbed his shoulder, anchoring him away from the dark, thorny vines. Much like that morning, a burst of dark magic erupted out of him, only this time rather than forcing the Queen away as it had Emrys, the magic blasted the wall of green life before them. Mordred fell onto his back with a disoriented wince. Gwen caught herself on her hands and knees beside him.

"My Queen, are you hurt?!" George queried, hurrying over to help her to her feet.

"I'm fine, thank you," she assured him.

Mordred looked at his hand only registering in that moment, the scratches that he'd collected all over his fingers by dragging them against the rose vines. The magic that had lured him in had been so strong, so familiar and intoxicating… it had felt like nature itself was calling him home. He tried to remember the woman in the ivy; her face was fading so quickly.

"Sir Mordred," Sir Patrick called his attention, and Mordred allowed the other knight to pull him to his feet. "I would ask what that was about..."

Mordred glanced up at Sir Patrick, then turned back to the hedge. He put the thumb and forefinger of his uninjured hand in his mouth and whistled for Bran. The loyal wolf didn't come. Mordred frowned and whistled again.

Gwen stepped closer inspecting his bleeding fingers. "We'll have to take you to Gaius and have this re-bandaged." She looked up, noticing the Druid's unease. "What is it?"

Mordred held up a finger, prompting her to fall silent and closed his eyes to listen.

"My Lord! One does not-" George began indignantly only to be silenced by the Queen's hand over his mouth. They could hear Bran scuffling about on the other side. At first it sounded almost manic, but then something heavy scraped against stone. He was trying to push something. Mordred put his fingers to his lips again and this time chirped off a fast, rhythmic melody.

Bran wrestled with whatever he was pushing for another second, then called back an equally melodic wolf's song.

"He's found whatever caused this," Gwen inferred, looking to Mordred for confirmation.

The Druid nodded.

"Sir Patrick." Guinevere gestured toward the hedge and Sir Patrick drew his sword, beginning to cut away the overgrown vines.

Up above them in the tower, a slender, strawberry blond man watched their actions with a smirk, taking a sniff of the wilting rose that Mordred had left on the ledge that morning. Now that the boy was preoccupied with that old artifact, getting at the more valuable target would be child's play.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, yeah. I seem to be getting into the habit of ending chapters on a darker note, whether horror related or just ominous... I hope that's not a bad thing. Anyway, I know I'm being kinda mean to Morgana in this episode; in her defense though she's suffered a lifetime of mind-fuckery so, realistically, she and Mordred would be dysfunctional, 'cause complicated personalities are complicated. Anyway, thanks for reading, guys. I hope you enjoyed it. Special thanks to _Agana of the Night_ and _catherine10_ for taking the time to review.


	15. Unspoken Bond

**Chapter 3: Unspoken Bond**

At nightfall Merlin and company-mainly Merlin- set up camp in a small, ruined temple so old that the crumbling granite had released most of its magic back to nature. There was another, darker sort of energy hanging around the edges that Merlin was doing his best not to dwell on too much: the lingering imprint of violence and death. Doubtless, this place had been an early target during the Great Purge. Merlin was sitting on one of the crumbling benches around the fire pit, tending to the flames. Arthur had been sitting beside him since the start of their evening meal, and had neither spoken a word to his servant, nor touched his bowl of stew. Merlin was still feeling too guilty about his earlier outburst to break the silence.

"Mordred told you about surviving my raid on his camp..." Arthur swallowed and poked at his stew with his spoon. "I didn't even remember."

"He doesn't blame you," Merlin explained, both relieved and disappointed that Arthur had attributed his rant earlier to Mordred's confidences. "I don't think he wants to remind you of the things that King Uther made you do any more than he wants to relive them."

Arthur set his bowl down on the ground between them with a soft clink. "I cannot blame my father for every wrong that I have committed."

"Arthur..."

"I never questioned!"

"That isn't true, " Merlin cut in, feeling inexplicably defensive on Arthur's behalf.

Arthur shook his head. "I may have gone against Uther's will too save Mordred once, but I was so close. I almost let him die. I didn't learn from it! I ransacked that village on my father's word that they were a threat to Camelot, but he was wrong, again, and I didn't hesitate."

"Arthur, why are you telling me this?" Merlin asked tightly.

"Because you were right to remind me of that," Arthur clarified, staring into the fire. "I need to be certain that I am not going to make the same sort of mistake again."

Merlin considered his assertion for a long moment, then asked. "Why are you here?"

"I'm leading my knights. This is dangerous territory and we won't have long to reach King Rodor before Odin catches us."

"I know the goal of this quest, Arthur, but why are you here? If you are caught doing this - or worse, you could start another war. "

Arthur sighed with the hint of a wry smile. "Have you been talking to Guinevere?"

"No, but Odin did kill your father. If you're doing this for Princess Mithian, that is a noble thing, but if this is about revenge..."

"Could you blame me if it was?" Arthur hedged. He was still angry about his father's murder. A part of him craved retribution but…

"No. I wouldn't, Arthur. I'm just posing the question," Merlin told him honestly. "We left Mordred behind after someone silenced him, and it has something to do with this quest. I'm just making sure that you're certain of what you're doing."

* * *

"... Well, I couldn't just stand back and let her drag Merlin away. I grabbed up the sword and did my best to fight the creature off. Luckily, that was when Arthur arrived. He saved us really," Gwen finished her recounting as they reached the end of the hall to Mordred's room. "And that is quite enough adventure for tonight. I'll let you keep Bran with you this time, but you must promise that you won't get too impatient with George."

Mordred let out a little huff, but assented anyway, resting his hand atop the wolf's head.

"Goodnight, Sir Mordred. George," Gwen bid them farewell for the night. "Sleep well."

Mordred nodded, while his ever-proper servant bowed deeply.

Gwen turned to walk towards the royal bed chambers with Sir Patrick following dutifully behind her.

Mordred headed for his own bedroom with George trailing after him. However the Clairvoyant stopped abruptly in the doorway, reluctant to take another step. In fact, he was so unwilling to enter that he grabbed both sides of the doorframe to anchor himself when George accidentally knocked into him. He knew this magic, the energy that crackled over his skin and through his entire body like an intoxicating rhythm reeking of earth, and illusion, and nature. Mordred knew, not only from the teachings of his elders, but from personal experience that it is best to avoid the 'Folk if at all possible.

"Milord. Remember your agreement with the Queen?" George urged, with badly-masked disdain. He started to push past Mordred only to be stopped in his tracks by a low growl from Bran. He looked back at Mordred's wolf and noticed that the animal was not growling at him, nor either of the guards, but rather he was growling at the pitch darkness beyond with his fur standing on end.

Mordred turned and strode purposefully away down the corridor. After a beat George joined him.

A few minutes later Gaius looked up at a crisp knock on his door. When he answered it, George met him with a prim, closed-lipped smile.

"Good Evening, Gaius."

Mordred pushed past into the Physician's Chambers, trailed closely by his familiar, and sat down at Gaius' table to wait with Bran resting his chin on the enchanted teen's thigh.

"I regret to say, Milord refuses to remain in his own chamber for the night. I do not know what has gotten into him. If you would be so kind as to allow us to stay with you…"

"I'll be kinder. You are in need of rest. I shall look after Sir Mordred for now. Go get some well-earned sleep," Gaius suggested. "You can consider it a night off."

"I am not sure…" George appeared to be considering it, so Gaius went ahead and sealed the deal.

"Truly, it is the best way to ensure that you will remain proficient despite the hardships caused by your Lord's current circumstances. In fact, why don't I make it Physician's orders? Take the night off to refresh yourself."

"Yes, I think I will. Thank you, Gaius." George began to walk away, then turned on his heel. "If Milord needs me-"

"I'll let you know," Gaius favored the man with a fake smile before shutting the door and turning to give Mordred the eyebrow. "This wasn't merely a ploy to be rid of George was it?"

Mordred shook his head adamantly and Gaius could see the anxiety in his eyes was genuine.

"Very well. You can stay in Merlin's bed for the night."

Mordred stood and gave Gaius' shoulder a grateful squeeze before darting into Merlin's room. He only truly relaxed once he was curled up under the thin blankets, surrounded by the residual traces of Emrys' magic that buzzed reassuringly over his skin. He knew that of all the places he could be this was the one she would not dare follow him into: the home of the one sorcerer in this world powerful enough to rival one of her kind.

* * *

Merlin got up from his seat by the smoking fire pit and headed up the crumbling stone steps of the ruins to see what the knights were up to. A trembling hand on his arm stopped him on the third stair.

"Merlin," Mithian said tentatively.

Merlin turned an inquiring look on the Princess.

"I've run out of water again. Perhaps if you're heading that way, you could refill it in the stream?"

Merlin's shoulders relaxed. "No need. Here, take this one. I just filled it." He unstrung his own waterskin from his waist and held it out to her.

"I prefer this one," Mithian said tightly.

"It's perfectly clean..." Merlin trailed off, seeing the determined look on Mithian's face. "Fine. No problem. I'll be back in a moment." He accepted the empty skin.

"Thank you," Mithian called to his disappearing back, noticing too late that she was being observed.

At the stream, Merlin knelt down and splashed some water over his face to help him remain alert before beginning to refill- Merlin's eyes narrowed. The Princess' waterskin was barely half empty. Now fully alert, Merlin looked around him. There had to be a reason why he was sent here. On a stone poking out of the shallow water to his left, he saw the reason. The name 'Morgana' had been scratched into the stone's surface with a piece of a broken buckle. Merlin sprinted out of the water towards camp only to be knocked off his feet by a burst of kinetic magic, two steps onto dry land. He landed against a tree and blinked the stars from his vision before looking up at his attacker, Mithian's imposter-maid.

"Morgana," he spat, letting his throbbing head fall back against the rough bark.

"Goodbye Merlin," she replied smugly, extending a weathered hand and then clenching it into a tight fist. Merlin instinctively struggled for breath as an invisible force cut off his air supply. His mouth opened and shut a few times in a pointless parody of gasps. He couldn't focus his will to block her magic. He couldn't speak to utter a spell. Besides, at this close proximity, there was a good chance that Morgana would see the flash of molten gold in his eyes when he tried to resist her, spell or not. _This is ridiculous,_ the last Dragonlord internally scoffed. Then his mind calmed. _She can't kill me like this._ Merlin allowed his eyes to drift shut and felt the earth under him.

His head was propped up against an ancient tree. His fingers brushed its root as he allowed his limbs to go limp. Emrys followed his magic into it entwining his being with its ancient life force. He focused his very existence on that connection, allowing the tree to support him in the way that his lungs currently could not, and dropped into a deep, protective trance. Morgana stood over her brother's manservant as he lay still and lifeless-or so she thought- on the forest floor. The sight put an odd, unwelcome feeling in her gut. This was a vengeance that Morgana had dreamt of for years, but now that she'd done it, she didn't feel as victorious as she'd thought she would. Instead the sight of Merlin, pallid and still in a way that the man had no right to be, simply looked wrong. The High Priestess pushed her uncertainty away, to the far back of her mind and made a beeline for the camp, playing the part of the frightened maid who'd found a dead man.

Sir Gwaine didn't even wait for her to finish her sentence before he pushed past her on his way to the stream. _Ever the caring friend._

"The poor boy must have slipped. I tried to help, but he isn't breathing!" Morgana added as Arthur and Leon descended into view on the far side of the ruins. Sir Percival and Sir Gwaine carried their downed friend back to camp and laid him by the fire pit.

"He's alive," Gwaine announced. "Barely."

"What?" Morgana muttered, taken aback. Then silently berated herself for drawing Arthur's attention. "I was certain that he had stopped breathing." She added honestly, managing not to sound disappointed. Arthur shifted his inquisitive gaze away from her and paced over to his unconscious manservant while Sir Leon did his best to treat him.

"I don't think he has any damage to his skull. There's nothing broken that I can find," Sir Leon reported. "But I'm no physician."

"Merlin's our physician," Arthur stated flatly, looking like he really wanted to punch something.

"Does this seem familiar to anybody else?" Sir Gwaine suggested, recalling Mordred's 'accident' outside of Mithian's chambers.

"Yes. It does," Arthur confirmed, pacing back and forth while Princess Mithian and Sir Percival eyed him from their places by the fire pit. "Merlin was right, we're being sabotaged."

"Arthur..." Mithian began, her hands were shaking and she looked pale. The Princess seemed unable to keep her eyes off of the fallen servant.

"I know. I have not forgotten your father," Arthur reassured, turning to address his knights. "Sir Gwaine, you remain here with Merlin and Helga; the rest of us will head onward to Lothor's tomb."

"What! I must tend to my Princess!" Morgana protested immediately, making her voice sound as desperate as she could. Despite the fair acting, Arthur rounded on her.

"You are in no position to argue! We are in enemy territory with an unknown foe picking us off one by one! It all seems to happen around you and Mithian, and I. Don't. Know. You! Now you will wait here, Helga, or my men will hold you here." Arthur's blue eyes were filled with barely contained rage, more than his sister would have expected from him under the circumstances. Still, she knew when to concede.

"S-Sire-" Princess Mithian stammered uncertainly, afraid that the King might trigger the witch's wrath. Morgana bowed her head in false submission.

"Forgive me, Sire. I merely want what is best for Princess Mithian. She has been through so much already. "

"We will keep her safe," Sir Elyan assured, his eyes flicking between the servant and his King. Morgana flashed him a grateful smile and moved to sit on Merlin's other side.

Arthur frowned down at her thoughtfully before signaling to the rest of his knights to move out.

"We can't wait any longer. It's time that we found King Rodor and brought him out of this place."

* * *

Mordred wandered blearily out into the main chamber of the Physicians' Quarters and saw Gaius seated at the table, reading. There was a steaming bowl of porridge at the place across from him.

"Good morning, Sir Mordred." Gaius glanced up from his text to look at the porridge. "You'd better eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

Mordred took the seat offered him, complying with the old man's suggestion.

"I don't suppose there is any point in asking why you came here last night," Gaius speculated.

Mordred flashed him a closed-lipped smile.

"I have been researching that vessel you found in the castle gardens," Gaius explained.

Mordred paused between bites of the blandest porridge that he had ever tasted to recall the stone vase-like object they'd found atop a hidden pillar. It had embellishments on each of its four faces embedded with a different crystal. Although the faces looked far more like large artfully stylized eyes than anything else. The eastern face -or 'eye' as Mordred thought of them- had been pried off. Something about those rune-encrusted 'irises' on each face caused something primal within Mordred's core to coil defensively, but he had chosen to ignore that feeling. It reminded him too much of that feral madness brought by the strange, scar-like haze that had infected Morgana, and now him.

"It's a security measure of sorts. They were used in this kingdom for over a century before the Great Purge made them purposeless. Each face is designed to nullify one of the four most potent forms of natural magic," Gaius picked up the sphere and set it on the table between them, turning it to show the different iron embellishments and carvings. "When this was whole, it would simply have absorbed any spells attempted within the inner garden. I imagine that is what triggered your binding to react as it did."

Mordred stared at the empty space on the artifact, feeling the blood drain from his face. Gaius turned the sphere to show the face on the opposite side.

"For instance," he tapped the iron and silver web of knots and sigils encircling a carved onyx. "This would give Morgana no end of trouble. It would nullify her foresight completely, and this..." The physician turned the object to display its southern face, but stopped short at the clatter of Mordred's spoon falling into his porridge bowl. "Sir Mordred?"

Mordred stared wide eyed at the sphere while the image of Morgana's opal amulet ghosted over his vision. It wasn't an amulet at all. It was the missing eastern face. The Druid reached out a trembling hand and turned the empty space into view, looking imploringly at Gaius. He wanted so badly to be mistaken about this.

"Mental magic..." Gaius straightened up, the epiphany striking just as Mordred began to hyperventilate. "You're a Clairvoyant! I did not think that there were any left!" Gaius let out a heavy sigh and rounded the table. "My dear boy, get a hold of yourself." He took Mordred by the shoulders and turned the panicking youth to face him. "Slowly, deep breaths."

There was gentle knock at the door, but Gaius didn't bother to look back.

"Come in."

"Oh, dear!" the Queen's gentle voice observed.

"Sir Mordred will be fine. We've just had another breakthrough," Gaius dismissed, getting up to fetch a bottle of tawny liquid from his work desk. Gwen immediately took up his place in front of Mordred, attempting to comfort him. Behind her, Sir Patrick entered and came to a halt a few paces away; the objects on the table beside Mordred were very gradually sliding away, repelled by an unseen force.

"Gaius?" he prompted in a tone that made the name synonymous with 'what the hell am I seeing?' The table began visibly to vibrate.

"I feared this might happen," Gaius passed the bottle to Gwen. "Here. Waft the open bottle under his nose."

Gwen uncorked the bottle and did as he'd instructed. The contents turned to vapor upon contact with the open air and Mordred collapsed into her arms like a life-sized rag doll. The Queen's shocked eyes locked on Gaius'. "What did I just do to him?!"

"Induced a deep slumber. I assure you, Your Majesty, it is entirely reversible," Gaius reassured, returning the bottle to its proper placement. "We have done him far less damage than he could easily have incurred had he remained awake."

"You said that you had made a breakthrough," Gwen prompted as Sir Patrick lifted Mordred off of her lap and deposited him on the nearby bed.

Gaius paused for a beat, realizing the problem he'd just caused for himself and Mordred. "This artifact. They were used in the time before the Great Purge as a means of negating magical influence within a particular location. I believe that that is what you witnessed yesterday," he relayed a hastily-edited version of their discovery.

"If this thing is meant to nullify magic, how come it isn't counteracting the binding?" Sir Patrick inquired.

"Its eastern face has been removed." Gaius turned the artifact, naming off each face, "North: the Prophet, South: the Guardian, West: the Trickster, and..." he presented the defaced, Eastern side. "East: the Mind's Eye."

"Mordred..." the Queen muttered under her breath, then added upon noticing Gaius' eyes on her, "His mind must be bound somehow. Whoever bewitched him seems to have gone to great pains to preserve their work."

"Indeed," Gaius concurred, satisfied by the pretext. "It does however, beg the question. What magic user could know the palace grounds so well that they could find this?"

Gwen considered the problem for only a brief moment before paling at the inescapable conclusion.

"Queen Guinevere?" Sir Patrick reached out to steady the faint-looking royal.

"It was Morgana!" Gwen breathed, horrified. She looked over at her comatose nephew. "Is this her revenge?"

* * *

Sir Gwaine finished scrutinizing Merlin's head-wound for the umpteenth time, paying little mind to the old woman across from him getting up to rummage through her bag. He figured that she had probably forgotten where she'd left her water skin again. She'd already done so twice since the had others left. The second time, the old bat had insisted that it had to be by the stream, only to find it moments later after arguing with him pointlessly over whether or not he should be the one to fetch it. Naturally, afterward she had pottered off to fill the empty vessel, mumbling to herself about how 'nobody respects their elders these days'. Gwaine wasn't sorry; he didn't trust the demented old woman anymore. Arthur was right, mad old woman or not, there was just something cautioning about her presence.

"He should have woken by now," Gwaine fretted, holding a hand out over his prone friend's mouth to reassure himself that Merlin was still breathing. "This wound didn't seem that serious. What if it is? What if he never wakes?"

"He won't," a familiar voice replied smugly from directly behind him. Sir Gwaine's eyes went saucer wide and his hand gripped the hilt of his sword, but Morgana knocked him unconscious with the stew pot she'd grabbed out of the saddlebag while he wasn't paying attention. She smirked.

" _It's good to be back_." The Priestess' words reverberated through Mordred and his consciousness focused to a sharpened point, his magic resurfacing in a rush of sheer will.

* * *

 **A/N:** Happy holidays, Dear Readers! Here's an admittedly short chapter for your viewing pleasure. We are officially non-canonical now, so... yay? I hope it's a yay... I'm tired, so just ignore my strangeness. Thank you for reading this, and special thanks to _Agana of the Night, DragonReader99_ and _catherine10_ for reviewing.


	16. Mum's the Word

Chapter 4: Mum's the Word

Morgana knocked Sir Gwaine unconscious and carelessly dropped the cookware, then circled back around to her old friend's other side as the last vestiges of age retreated from her form. The rejuvenated sorceress leaned over Merlin, resting a hand above his heart. Magic danced under her skin as she prepared to cast her spell and trap him forever, too intent on her revenge to notice the Eye fragment slipping out from under the folds of her robe. It glowed faintly even as she smirked at her own imminent victory. "It's good to be back," Morgana purred. Merlin's eyes snapped open.

"Speak for yourself," he disagreed, hitting her with the discarded stew pot.

"Ah, you treacherous, snake!" Morgana swore, holding her injured shoulder. Her eyes flashed and Merlin only just rolled out of the way in time to avoid having his head blasted apart by an exploding stone slab.

"You don't - have - to do this, Morgana!" Merlin grunted as he dragged the unconscious knight out of the line of fire while Morgana scrambled to her feet. Then he darted out into the open, drawing the witch's wrath away from the defenseless man.

"Yes I do!" Morgana sent a blast of kinetic magic at his head, which he ducked with surprising ease. "You betrayed me!" He ducked another blast. "You poisoned me! Because of you my sister is dead!" Morgana let off another blast as she chased him up the stairs. Merlin sidestepped it without really breaking his stride all that much. In fact, he was pretty sure that even a normal human being would be able to avoid most, if not all of these attacks, which was… actually kind of strange coming from Morgana. Merlin wondered fleetingly if the world was somehow conspiring to drive him insane, what with the unwelcome reminder of his failings surrounding Mordred and his people, Arthur's random open-mindedness, and now this.

"I never wanted to be your enemy, Morgana!" Merlin snapped. "I did what I had to do; you were at the center of it all, and I couldn't save you! There was no other choice."

Morgana caught him in a web of invisible magic just short of the doorway and floated him half a foot off the ground, turning him around to face her with a graceful gesture as if pulling an invisible thread. "You think that you can just explain it all away and erase your guilt after everything that you've done," she sneered.

"I don't know why I'm telling you anything!" Merlin shouted back furiously. He was nearing that maddening threshold again just as he had been at the stream when he'd ranted at Arthur. He honestly didn't know what this was, but perhaps this was why there were always things that he simply didn't think about, the same things that had been bombarding him ever since Mithian's arrival. An idea struck him, and his rage melted away. He questioned almost philosophically, "Is this really how I'm going to die?"

His gaze locked with Morgana's, and he saw a strange and unreadable expression flicker through her eyes, laced with what might be the barest hint of doubt. She opened her wielding hand, sending him flying out through the archway and dropping him unceremoniously to the forest floor several meters below in a painful tumble of limbs. It took Merlin a while to reorient himself and by that time Morgana was gone. She could easily have finished him off just then, at least, from her perspective, and he still had no idea why she hadn't.

"Forget it, Merlin," he told himself, stumbling to his feet. "You've still got to save the prat."

* * *

Gaius sat, watching over his Clairvoyant patient, holding the Eye in his aged hands. The healer looked down at the metal workings marking each face, feeling all his many years of age acutely while he remembered the old rhyme.

' _I am South; I burn fiercely, the heart of the wild._

 _My Sister, North's eye chills both warrior and child._

 _East's mind over matter sows storms of such might,_

 _He dreads naught but the silence of West's fearsome night.'_

The glaring warning in those words was something Uther had never let him forget. The four most potent and-as he saw it- dangerous breeds of magic user. The last two were worst of all; on that much Gaius was willing to concede that the late King might have had a point. He had never witnessed a Clairvoyant at the true height of their power, but he had heard stories. Mind over matter… The ability to enforce your will on others, to bend others' will or perception of reality to your own whim. It was a gift made all the more deadly by the inherent paradox: mental magic was neither destructive, nor arguably consequential on its own. A warlock, only half as potent as Merlin could call upon the magic lying dormant in nature, making his environment into a deadly weapon. A Seer could know an opponent's actions for days or even years in advance, and often possessed a knack for kinetic magic or enchantment- but a Clairvoyant dealt in intangible things: ideas, emotions, dreams. Their magic rarely had much direct influence on the world. For a long time Gaius had contentedly believed that made them less powerful. Then King Uther had started to hunt them, and before long Gaius had witnessed the horrifying power of a being who could take any person's strength and instantly turn it against them. He didn't want even to consider what that would mean if Mordred ever used such power against Merlin. When Gaius had first met Merlin, and watched the teen slow time in order to cushion his fall, he had been only a couple of years younger than Mordred's current age- another child born with magic. Kilgharrah had warned Merlin to kill this boy when they'd first met him, Gaius recalled. Upon Mordred's return, Merlin had confided in Gaius again.

" _I can't ignore what I saw, Gaius. Mordred is going to kill Arthur on the battlefield. That Druid showed it to me for a reason!"_ He hadn't seemed to want to meet his mentor's eye during that disagreement, and under the circumstances, Gaius couldn't really blame him.

At the time they had agreed -begrudgingly on the warlock's part- to give the boy a chance to prove himself. Had Merlin already known of his future enemy's power? Mordred was the son of a High Priestess after all. In truth he was not just Morgana's child, but also the son of a Druid shaman. His magic would be formidable even if it was no true match for Merlin's. _He must have known,_ Gaius realized remembering the warlock's earlier sarcastic remark. Merlin had called Mordred _'a frighteningly-intelligent, Druid sorcerer trained from infancy'._

The dark thought crossed Gaius' mind again, equally dreadful as all the other times it had occurred to him over the past few hours. _If someday this boy will turn on us, can we afford to allow him to reach his full potential?_ Mordred could easily become too strong for them to stop, long before he returned to his Mother's side. _As powerful as Merlin is… can he stand against them both together?_ Gaius doubted it, despite himself. He stared at the boy's sleeping face. Mordred looked so innocent in sleep. He was truly defenseless in this state. It would be easy to stop his breathing right now- Gaius hated himself for thinking it. There were times when the young Prince reminded Gaius so much of his mother. In fact, he had already begun to fret over the boy's tendency toward night terrors. He had feared that perhaps it was a trait passed on from mother to son, but at the same time, Gaius found himself being reminded of Merlin's youth as well. It was not as frequent, nor so obvious. Still, the similarities between the two mages were definitely there, making it that much harder for the old physician to bear.

The clairvoyant on the bed before him suddenly flinched, almost as though he had taken a heavy blow to the chest, and his eyes fluttered open. They were glowing, not with the dark magic of the binding, but with his own.

"Nnno!" the boy mumbled. "Don't… Emr…" whatever he was exclaiming about faded into incomprehensible murmuring before Gaius could make heads or tails of it. "Ndon hhurt'm…" Then his eyes snapped open wide. "EMRYS!" His voice was sharp, resonating with raw power and the jars on the table closest to his bed shattered under the vibrations. Gaius' ears popped painfully and he clamped his hands over them in preparation for another, likely deafening scream. Instead, a violent ripple of dark magic rushed over Mordred's body and his eyes rolled back in his head. His whole body began to convulse and the bed under him shook as if caught in a non-existent earthquake. The glass in the room sang or cracked under the force of more, inaudible ripples of power. Then Mordred fell back onto the mattress and it all abruptly stopped. It almost seemed as if nothing had occurred at all, except for the fact that the patient was now flattened into the mattress by his utter exhaustion and panting as if he'd just run a marathon.

"I've been an old fool," Gaius realized, staring at the Druid Prince in shock. As well as he knew that he didn't have it in himself to murder a patient, Gaius knew that he shouldn't-couldn't save Mordred's life.

* * *

"We're almost there. It should be in this next clearing up ahead," Mithian directed, leading Arthur and his knights closer to their doom. She didn't want to bring them into the tomb, and had already debated with herself over and over the different alternatives while they travelled. They had to at least enter the tomb or her father would die. Mithian had to make sure that Morgana wouldn't realize her deception until they were ready for her or the mute boy would suffer. _Not the Mute. Mordred. His name was- is Mordred_ , she reminded herself.

"There, I think I can see it," Percival announced and the Princess looked up from her self-hating glower at the forest floor to see the tomb gradually coming into view. Arthur clasped her shoulder in a brief attempt to comfort her.

"Stay close and trust me, we'll have your father back in no time."

Mithian nodded but stopped short at the edge of the clearing and grabbed his wrist. "Wait, Arthur. You need to know something. I-I…" she jumped. Her bracelet had just flashed ember hot for a split second. A hooded female figure stared at her from across the clearing at the King's back, where she was leaning against a she vanished in a whirl of smoke. "I should have told you sooner… my father's injury. I don't think that he'll be able to walk out of here," Mithian improvised, refusing to acknowledge the hopeless tear that fell from her eye as she spoke.

"We'll carry him out if we have to," Arthur promised her. "Trust me."

Mithian nodded, feeling like she almost wished the witch would just burn her up right then and there and be done with it. Then she remembered Morgana's taunting words when they woke that morning, 'Their lives are in your hands, Princess'. She steeled herself and led Arthur and Percival into the tomb while Sir Leon and Sir Elyan hung back to guard the entrance. When they reached the inner chamber, Arthur grabbed her shoulder.

"Wait," he whispered sharply, resting his other hand on the hilt of his sword. "Something's not right. Can you see your father?"

"No," Mithian replied, fighting to hold back tears. She couldn't believe that she was really going through this, betraying Arthur like this after he had been nothing but kind.

"Wait here," Arthur told her, signaling to Sir Percival. "We'll make sure it's safe."

Mithian nodded mutely, unable to look at either of them. They didn't deserve this. None of them did. Arthur crept into the chamber looking for any sign of a threat, or any sign of Mithian's wounded Father, even a speck of blood. He glanced questioningly back at Percy, who looked equally perturbed.

"I don't understand," Arthur said, shifting his inquiring eyes to Mithian.

"I'm so sorry," Mithian confessed tearfully. "It's a trap."

As if on cue, men in dark armor flooded into the chamber, surrounding them. Percival and Arthur both leapt into action, fighting Odin's men off for as long as they could just on principle, but once Arthur was disarmed and held with a blade to his throat, Percival relented for the sake of his King's life.

"Odin," Arthur begrudgingly acknowledged.

"Arthur," the older King returned acidly.

"I still don't understand, Mithian. What wrong have I ever done to you?" Arthur demanded, glaring at the miserable woman, whom he'd thought was his friend.

"Nothing," Mithian whispered, cowering in her corner.

"It is you and I who have blood between us, Arthur Pendragon," Odin growled, pointing his sword at Arthur's throat.

"Oh, you always were slow on the uptake though, weren't you Arthur?" A familiar creaky voice taunted as a black clad, hooded woman strolled in behind King Rodor. "Please, your Majesty, I only want what is best for my Princess. I must serve Milady," Helga's voice said mockingly before Morgana pulled down her hood, dispersing any remaining shred of illusion.

"Father!" Mithian exclaimed as her father stepped past to rejoin her, pulling the old man into a tight embrace.

"You've done your part, Mithian. I release you," Morgana stated with a dismissive wave and the enchanted bracelet dropped off of the Princess' wrist with a soft clang.

"Morgana, I never thought it would be you," Arthur said bitterly, "I should have known."

"Yes, well, you never were a thinker," Morgana agreed with a smirk, while King Rodor tried to lead his daughter away from their tormentors, only to find her stubbornly anchored to the spot.

"Wait. What about the boy?" Mithian said firmly, pinning the High Priestess with a determined stare.

Morgana blinked incredulously, turning to look at her previous captive. "What?"

"Boy? What is-" Odin began to grumble but Morgana held up a hand and he fell into an angrily expectant silence.

"Mordred," Mithian said flatly, "What about Mordred? You promised me that no more harm would come to him. I want him released."

"Oh, Morgana," Arthur breathed, looking utterly disgusted.

Morgana opened her mouth to speak - or more likely scream - at her brother in response, but was cut off by an unnatural rumble that sounded almost like thunder surrounding them. If that were even possible… but no, there was a creaking underlying it, like something stiff stretching and rattling- a whole lot of it.

"What is that?!" Odin voiced the question plaguing everyone in the tomb, regardless of their allegiance. There was a soft rustling sound from the pathway behind Morgana and she whirled round to search for the source, leaning an arm on the edge of the stone archway as she peered into the darkly shadowed passage. There was a muffled clatter and a couple of Odin's men shifted to point their swords at the opening. "See to that," the old King ordered. The soldier standing on Morgana's right gestured to his comrade as if to say, 'you're closer'.

"Coward," the other one muttered and stepped cautiously into the shadows. There was another rustling and a strangled grunt as the last part of the soldier left visible, his booted foot, was yanked out of sight.

"What the…" Percival wondered aloud.

"Priestess?" Odin asked.

Morgana frowned into the darkness, then muttered, "Forbærne," striking a fireball in her right hand to use as a light. However before she took the first step forward, a deep green tendril poked out of the edges of the abyss. The vines were growing into the chamber at an impossible rate, as though reaching for the people contained within. Morgana flinched away and yanked her forearm out of the questing tangle of greenery. That was what had made the rumbling sound - the plants. She hurled her fireball into the darkness, only for it to fizzle out with a soft hiss as it entered the shadows. Morgana took a step back. "No!" She sounded simultaneously petulant and frightened, as the vines changed course, now clearly reaching for her and the soldier standing next to her, who began to edge away from her. Arthur felt a chill run down his spine. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard his sister actually sound truly scared.

"We should go," Arthur pointed out.

"I'm not letting you go anywhere, Arthur Pendragon, not when vengeance is within my grasp!" Odin denied.

"We can stay here and die together, or we can run and you might kill me later," Arthur responded, ignoring the scolding looks that statement earned him from Percival and, rather unexpectedly, Princess Mithian. "Which would you prefer?"

"Go!" Morgana agreed, casting another ball of flame forward, this time using it to burn away the invading vines.

"Lady Morgana-" Odin began to argue.

"Now!" She snapped at him as she hurled yet another fireball. This time the vines moved out of the way and kept coming, while Odin's men began to file out through the other passage. "EMRYS!" Morgana shrieked, fed up, and shouted "Beswencan!" sending a cloud of eerie, poisonous light into the shadows. It coalesced around a graceful hand and was tossed straight back at her. Although she easily sidestepped it, two vines wrapped around her arm and waist and yanked her up against the wall.

"Mithian!" Arthur called back as Odin hauled him out past the Princess.

Mithian watched Morgana struggling, and hesitated for a beat before darting forward and yanking the Eye fragment off of the distracted sorceress with a firm tug. "Run!" she advised, kicking Odin hard in the side and hurrying out through the exit with Arthur and her father.

* * *

"...Hit's me little boy, your Majesty. Well, me sister's boy. E's alls I got left now that she's gone. We tried everythin' to 'elp 'im but 'is fever's gettin' worse heach day!" The peasant woman kneeling before the throne pleaded, desperate for aid.

Gwen sat on her throne, transfixed by the other woman and the inappropriate feeling of _déja vu_ invoked by her plight for a fleeting moment. "I will tell the Court Physician to see that your nephew is given the best care possible," she reassured her subject. The peasant woman cried tears of joy and thanked her profusely before taking her leave.

Gwen looked to Lord Geoffrey who was standing solemnly to her right.

"Are there many more seeking audience with me this afternoon?" she asked, doing her best to mask her distress.

"No more today, Ma'am."

"Thank you, Lord Geoffrey," the Queen looked at the group of attending councilors for a beat before concluding. "In that case, the court is dismissed." She stood and passed the scroll in her hands back to the record keeper, and headed out of the throne room. The men were mostly Uther's old advisers anyway, they hardly ever had a constructive note to spare for her.

"Your Majesty, if I might speak with you about a troubling rumor..." Lord Matthew requested, intercepting her halfway to the exit.

"Later," she promised, allowing him a polite smile, then fled to the courtyard, doing her best to ignore her protective shadow.

Gwen sat down beside the fountain and watched her people passing by, oblivious to the danger threatening their royal family. The Queen was under no illusions. Mordred was obviously a secondary target of Morgana's, if that. It was likely that Arthur was facing her right now, trapped out of reach of aid in Odin's lands. Gwen could lose everything today, and there was very little left that she could do to stop it. She looked down at her hands, absently realizing that she'd been toying with her fingers while she fretted, an old, nervous habit that she'd managed to suppress until recently.

"Excuse me, Milady. Do you mind if I join you?" an old woman's voice inquired.

Gwen looked up, inclining her head in assent before she was fully aware of what was happening.

"I thought so. You did look as though you might need some company," the old woman told her kindly, taking a seat beside her.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

"My name's Nuala, Your Majesty. I do hope I'm not disturbing your thoughts."

"Oh no- Well. You are a welcome distraction. I am afraid my mind lingers more and more on troubles of late."

"Whatever it is, I am sure that you will handle it soundly," Nuala said with such certainty that Gwen couldn't help but stare at her. "You and King Arthur have brought welcome change to this Kingdom, even if some of our people are stuck in the past. There is still more that you have left to bring us."

"You expect much of us," Gwen observed, a bit overwhelmed.

"No more than you are willing to offer," the older woman amended. Her eyes narrowed. "Is there something that I might offer you, your Majesty?"

"I am afraid the issue that concerns me is not one so easily shared."

"This isn't to do with that young Knight of yours…" Nuala pondered.

"You know Sir Mordred?" Gwen asked, surprised. The young Druid usually seemed so shy and distant from people that he didn't already know well. She hadn't really considered that he might have friends outside of the citadel.

"Yes. He is a sweet boy. I don't know why anyone would start those nasty rumors. I can't think of a less deserving target than our Sir Mordred," Nuala reflected. "He often stops to check on me when he visits town. I do hope that he is well; this is the longest that I've gone without a glimpse of him since we first met."

"I'm sorry to say he is ill. The Court Physician's looking after him," Gwen informed her, distracted by the other woman's idle comment. "You mentioned rumors?"

"It's nothing worth much thought," Nuala dismissed. "Some rabble-rouser spread whispers that your new Knight was a Druid. You know how these things escalate. Now some of the old traditionalists want us all to take that to mean he's got witch's blood. Never mind that the ban on Druids in this land was lifted years ago."

Gwen silently digested this news before even considering a reply. "Mordred is loyal to us. Even if he were…" she stopped short, not wanting to encourage the gossip even slightly. "He has risked a lot for my husband's sake. As far as I'm concerned, he has proven himself more than worthy of his place here."

Nuala smiled warmly at her. "I couldn't agree more. Take it from a maid from the old days. In the time before the war started there was trouble from magic users, certainly, but I never saw it being brought on us by the Druids. Most of their lot just preferred to be left alone."

"You worked here before the Great Purge?"

"Before and during. I was a very different person back then. I waited on poor Queen Igraine for a few years until... Well. They were interesting times. It's a shame that so much of it is being forgotten," Nuala reflected, adjusting her cape. "Sometimes that's what comes with change."

"You were Queen Igraine's servant?"

"One of her Ladies in Waiting. She was a joy! Always nurturing others, or making things grow. I was one of only two of us maids who used to accompany her while she tended her roses. The others were too put off by the Eyes to enjoy it."

Gwen frowned, getting the feeling that she was missing something that should be obvious. "I don't understand, her eyes?"

"Oh, no. I thought you'd know, but of course you're too young. The Eyes of Wyrd, they seemed harmless ornaments to most courtiers, but the blasted things even drove King Uther to bar Queen Igraine from venturing into the garden once she was with child." As Nuala continued her recollection the current Queen became more and more tense with dawning dread. "They drain the magic from those who carry it in their blood. It was no danger to anyone benign, in truth. The Eyes only became lethal in the presence of an active working, you see," Nuala's lips turned down at the corners in response to a disturbing memory. "But to those who'd witnessed what they could do… Those Eyes are one of many things that I am happy to see lost in forgotten history!"

"These 'Eyes,' did they look like vases?" Gwen blurted out, the fear that the old woman's company had lulled to the back of her mind returning with a vengeance.

Nuala gave the Queen a funny look. "I suppose… Why do you ask?"

Guinevere swallowed and hastily stood. "Thank you for your company, Nuala. I'll be sure to give Sir Mordred your regards."

"Thank you, your Majesty…" Nuala watched the Queen all-but-run back into the palace with her bodyguard close behind. The quizzical expression vanished from Nuala's face to be replaced by an accomplished smirk. "What a nice girl. I do so love an open mind," she reflected approvingly.

* * *

"Arthur!" Merlin called, running towards his friends as they fled the old tomb. Percy slipped past him to help Gwaine, Elyan and Leon who were fighting off a lingering group of Odin's men.

"Merlin?" Arthur questioned.

"I'll explain later," Merlin promised. "You know the maid's-"

"Morgana, yes. She's still in there. Fighting a-Thing." Arthur informed him haltingly as they ran into the woods. The knights didn't need to be prompted to follow; they were clearly outnumbered.

"What thing?" Merlin questioned, feigning ignorance while he fought not to smirk. In reality he'd only just left Morgana hanging halfway up the wall in a net of vines.

"I'll explain later," Arthur echoed his earlier deflection.

Gwen hurried into the Physician's Chambers, startling Gaius out of his reading. George leapt to his feet as the Queen brushed past him making a beeline for Mordred's bed. The servant flinched in sympathy when Patrick stoically caught the door before it could slam shut in his face. The Knight nodded to him in greeting and took up a watchful stance by the door.

"Can I help you, My Queen?" George inquired smoothly, as if her behavior was not in the least bit perplexing.

Gwen brushed Mordred's sweaty locks away from his face and felt his forehead. "He feels too warm," she assessed, and called to Gaius without looking up. "Has there been any change?"

"Rest assured, your Majesty, he is being well-cared for," George told her.

"Gaius, what's happened?" Gwen rested a determined gaze on the Physician, seeing him hesitate to answer.

"He is developing some new, and unexpected symptoms. I am still confident, however, that I can manage them for the time being," Gaius admitted, not ready or able to confess that he was uncertain of whether he should counteract the symptoms, now that he knew what Mordred was capable of.

"What symptoms?" Gwen pushed.

"As you noted, he is developing a fever… and we have had to strengthen his sedation." Gaius looked back down at the tome he'd been scrutinizing, shifting uneasily.

"George," Gwen prompted. "What is it that he doesn't want to tell me?"

"There is no need to worry you-" The servant began, exchanging a loaded look with the man in question.

"Tell me, now."

"He has begun experiencing magically-erupting fits, Ma'am," George immediately obeyed her direct command, as she'd known he would.

Gaius sent him a withering look. "I am confident that we are close to an answer, your Majesty. We have successfully sedated him once more. I do not want you to worry about this."

"Erupting," Gwen echoed, thinking quickly. "Was it at all like what happened in the gardens?"

George inclined his head thoughtfully. "It was similar."

"The Artifact," Gwen concluded. "It's an Eye of Wyrd, isn't it?"

"Yes, that is one name for them…" Gaius confirmed.

"It's missing its face. What if that's why she left it? It isn't functioning the same way anymore, and now it's dangerous!" Gwen theorized, careful not to mention the part of her suspicion that might incriminate their patient. Gaius didn't look like he was buying it. She paced back over to her original spot beside Mordred, watching his eyelids flutter in his unconscious delirium. "He was improving, Gaius. It wasn't much, but he was getting better before he found the Eye, and now look at him. If you know any way to stop it, or contain it, we need to begin right now."

Gaius shook his head. "I am sorry, but the very nature of the relic would seem to contradict such a possibility."

"The Witch did it," Sir Patrick pointed out, startling the others, who had more or less forgotten that he was present.

"What?" Gwen said hopefully.

"Well, she'd have to, wouldn't she? She'd have to be able to touch the Eye in order to deface it, right?"

There was a tense silence while his words sank in.

"We need Morgana," Gwen stated grimly, looking as if the words themselves tasted foul on her tongue.

"That may be true. Regardless, I will continue to search for an alternative," Gaius announced, returning his attention to the old tome with newfound determination. If it did end up coming down to the possible threat posed by Mordred and the very real one that his Mother already posed, Gaius knew which evil he'd choose.

"In the meantime, I want that artifact secured," the Queen declared, picking up an unused rag from the nearest table and using it to cover her hands as she scooped the Eye of Wyrd up off of Gaius' worktable. "It will be kept locked and isolated in the palace vault until either I or the King himself orders otherwise."

"Yes, Ma'am," Sir Patrick acknowledged opening the door for her, and accompanying her out of the room.

* * *

Arthur skidded to a halt and ducked the hands of an attacking enemy knight. Two more jumped out on the party's other side as well, and fell into combat with Gwaine and Elyan. Arthur stabbed the man who'd failed to tackle him in the thigh, and knocked him out with the hilt of his sword, only to be successfully grabbed around the waist by a large, muscular one behind him.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted, seeing the glint of a dagger in the warrior's rising hand, but before he could think to use his magic, a crossbow bolt went whistling past into the attacker's throat. Arthur stumbled forward a step and turned to watch his would-be-killer drop to the forest floor with a wet gurgle. He then turned to the older King.

"Thank you," Arthur said, receiving a silent nod in acknowledgement. There were far more soldiers coming out of the trees around them, and soon they would be upon them. "We need to split up. King Rodor, my Knights will escort you back to our camp. Merlin and I will loop around from the north and join you later."

"Arthur…" Mithian objected.

"Getting King Rodor to safety is the very purpose of this quest. I have no intention of failing now," Arthur preempted.

"This is my fault. Let me help you-"

"This is between me and Odin. You needn't take part in it any further," Arthur disagreed. "Go."

"Arthur," Merlin warned. The oncoming soldiers were getting too close for comfort.

They parted ways with the rest of the group and Arthur ran for a rocky ravine that would cut through to the temple ruins while providing them some decidedly limited cover from assault. King Odin seemed to be thinking along the same lines, unfortunately, and his men crowded out of the shadows to block their escape once Merlin and Arthur were far enough inside. They turned and started to run back anyway, but the pursuing soldiers had already caught up with them and blocked them in.

"Terrific," Merlin breathed, trying to catch his breath. He took a hasty step back away from the multiple blades coming up to point at their throats. "I don't much like this plan. You think we could try another one?"

Arthur spared him a fleeting, skeptical glance before King Odin answered for him.

"No! I want to do this myself," he ordered, drawing his sword as he walked to the center of the ravine at their backs. The group of soldiers retreated.

"Please don't," Merlin muttered resignedly.

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur sighed, spinning on the spot to block the other King's slashing sword with his own. They were locked in battle for a good few minutes, but it was still apparent who held more natural advantage. As vicious and deadly as every attack King Odin levied upon the younger swordsman was, his reflexes were slower and his style was less streamlined, putting far too much reliance in his greater physical strength and the force of each thrust. He nearly landed a blow to the side of Arthur's throat that would've definitely killed him, but just as Merlin was fighting a full-bodied flinch, Excalibur swung gracefully upward to sling the other sword aside. Odin dropped down to slit open Arthur's stomach but Arthur swiped down with more speed and aggression than he'd previously displayed and disarmed him. In the next blink of an eye King Odin was on his knees with Arthur's blade pressed to his throat.

"No! Arthur, stop," Merlin warned in that authoritative voice Arthur rarely heard him use. "Consider what it is that you are about to do."

Arthur stared down into his enemy's eyes still breathing fast from the exertion of fighting, still looking like a predator preparing for the kill. Then he blinked.

"Are you certain this is right?" Merlin reminded him more calmly.

Another tense beat of stillness. The silence was only broken by the sound of the warriors breathing, then Arthur relaxed his grip and retreated a step.

"What are you doing?" Odin ground out, looking more trapped than he had just a moment before.

"He's right."

"Finish it. Finish it and be done," King Odin demanded.

"And then what? It will not end here," Arthur reasoned. "Your men will come to Camelot in pursuit of revenge. Maybe they'll kill me, my people will rise against them in turn and there will be more bloodshed. A war without end. Is that what you want?"

"That is how it must be," King Odin dismissed.

"I will spare your life. In return you will restore Rodor to the throne of Nemeth."

"That solves nothing Pendragon! What about us?"

"A truce, binding our Kingdoms to peace."

The old King let out a bitter scoff.

"Never!"

"Is this what you want!?" Arthur snapped, leaning down almost nose-to-nose with the petulant leader. "To die, knowing that you condemn all our people to suffer?!"

"You killed my son," King Odin spat.

"You killed my father!" Arthur said straightening up reproachfully. "We have both lost much at each other's hand. We stand to lose so much more. I am asking you to end it!" He threw his own sword aside so that it landed out of reach stabbed into the dirt, then held out his hand. "Take it."

King Odin glared up at him for a moment, then at his hand. "So be it." He growled and begrudgingly allowed the other King to lift him to his feet.

Merlin let out a sigh of relief and smiled, only for it to falter as his gaze wandered to Excalibur sticking up out of the thick mud on his right. _I'm going to be up all night polishing that, now… Don't dwell on it, Merlin. Just enjoy the moment._

* * *

On the road back to Camelot with the castle towers just peeking into view, Arthur unexpectedly slowed to a stop.

"Something wrong, Sire?" Percival inquired drawing Mithian's notice.

"I'm not sure…" Arthur's words were nearly stolen away by a sudden burst of frosty wind whistling round the party. The horses fidgeted uncomfortably as the others halted as well.

"Arthur!" Merlin pointed into the woods on their left at a coal-black, lupine form bolting into the trees. Arthur watched it pad away, looking undaunted by their presence and slipped out of his saddle. "Wait. What are you doing?"

"Sir Elyan," Arthur called, waiting to see his brother-in-law's answering nod before continuing. "The rest of you stay on your guard. We're going to check on our newfound shadow."

"It belongs to Lady Morgana," Mithian warned anxiously.

"I know," Arthur replied, beckoning Elyan into the trees. They spotted the animal almost instantly just a few paces out of reach. It looked them over and let out an impatient sniff before trotting away again.

"It's leading us away," Elyan noted distrustfully.

"She isn't trying to hide it either," Arthur pointed out, wondering what in the world his scheming sister could be up to now.

"A trap?" Elyan offered quietly as they continued after the animal regardless.

"I doubt it." Arthur said as they followed the wolf into a clearing with an old dilapidated hovel taking up the far end.

"You would, wouldn't you?" A familiar voice remarked from a few paces behind them. Both men raised their swords and spun round to see Morgana leaning back against the old oak tree they'd just walked past.

"Morgana I am warning you-" Arthur began, only to be stopped by the sorceress' dismissive wave.

"I'm sure you're both just dying for a chance to fight me, but you needn't bother." She reached out her hand and waved it back and forth through Excalibur's blade. The limb crackled blue and faded into whirls of black smoke, only to re-solidify, away from the interrupting object. "You need to talk." She locked gazes with the wary King.

Arthur eyed her carefully for a beat, then relaxed and sheathed his sword. "What do you want? I need to get this amulet back to Gaius before whatever curse you put on Mordred turns deadly."

"Please. You know that I had no desire to kill him," Morgana disagreed. "He has betrayed me, true-"

"But he is your son," Arthur cut in acidly. "Tell me what you've done to him!"

Both Elyan and Morgana were staring at him in shock for completely different reasons.

"You knew! You knew all along and you stole him from me!" Morgana screeched in his face, looking half-mad with rage.

"No," Arthur countered just shy of a shout.

"S-sire?" Elyan questioned, somewhat disoriented.

"You will speak of it to no one," Arthur commanded lowly, still staring down the furious sorceress with equal venom.

"You're just like your father!" Morgana screamed, stepping towards him threateningly, despite only being an intangible phantom. "You tyrant! You thief! You took my son!"

"He isn't safe with you!" Arthur finally shouted over her. "Now tell me what curse you have placed on him and how to undo it or I am done with you."

"Give him back to me," Morgana demanded, looking far from lucid. "He will only suffer under your rule!"

"We're done here," Arthur informed his knight before storming past the insane illusion and out of the clearing.

"The Eye of Wyrd." Morgana's voice stopped him short, just within the trees. "It is a wretched, twisted thing. That is a fragment of it you now carry under your armor. To my child it is poison! You must not let him touch it."

Arthur turned to look back inquisitively at the Priestess and watched her phantom dissipate in a dark whirl of fog.

* * *

The next morning Arthur, Merlin and Gaius were gathered around the strange artifact on Gaius' work table. The King turned the recovered Eye fragment over and over in his hand, trying not to show just how nervous he felt.

"You're sure that this will restore the artifact?" Arthur verified. Somehow his nephew's affliction did not seem like something that would be so easy to rectify. He glanced across the counter at Merlin to see the apprentice physician was lost in his own thoughts. _Befuddled, as usual,_ the King noted internally.

"Once the Eye is complete it should return to its original function," Gaius answered calmly, although something in his demeanor didn't seem quite as relaxed. Maybe he was just concerned about Mordred's condition.

"You think the Eye will nullify whatever spell Morgana cast over him," Merlin surmised, his eyes flickering over his mentor's face with a hint of unrest.

"That was one of their original functions. I see no reason why this particular spell would pose any further difficulty."

"Right," Arthur accepted, unwrapping the broken face from its cloth covering. It was a little difficult for him to get a good grip on the thin metal with the leather gloves he was wearing. They were, however, a necessary precaution, considering that unknown magic was involved.

"Wait!" Gwen cut in abruptly, standing from her seat at Mordred's bedside. "This isn't right."

Arthur looked back at her with the piece held just inches short of its rightful place.

"Uther stopped using these for a reason. They're dangerous."

"The Eyes of Wyrd only serve to nullify magic, your Majesty. I have seen it for myself. They pose no threat to any normal person so long as they are treated with care," Gaius assured her.

Merlin's gaze sharpened in response to the clarification, boring into the old healer with new intensity.

"But it hasn't been treated with care! I have already seen this thing do Mordred harm, in spite of his innocence," Gwen argued, pulling her husband's hand back. "I told you, he was on the mend!"

"Gaius…" Arthur trailed off uncomfortably.

"Morgana never told us anything about what she did to damage this," Merlin considered aloud. "She didn't seem to think that fixing it would help."

"She's a witch, Merlin. Of course she didn't," Arthur pointed out. On the bed behind him, Mordred's shivering became hard to ignore. Merlin crossed over to check his temperature. Flickers of raw magic were escaping through the Druid's skin, and dissipating undirected into the open air. Merlin bit his lip, once again at war with himself about how to handle his would be enemy. _I can't use my magic to help without risking discovery… or_ _worse_ _._

"We don't have much time," he announced out loud.

"Gaius?" Arthur questioned, resting the detached segment on the table, although he was not yet swayed enough to let it go. If Gaius was right, and the King didn't mend the artifact, he would be sealing Mordred's fate.

"She's still his mother," Gwen stated decisively. She grabbed Arthur's gloved hand in her left hand, and the mortar and pestle with her right and smashed the crystal before anyone could stop her. There was a brilliant flash of multicolored light that swept over them like an ocean wave.

Merlin's eyes flashed gold, but it didn't matter much because time in the room had slowed to a near stop. The wave of countless magic users' compressed life force hit him like a ripple of intense pressure through the core of his being, and he fell forward onto Mordred's chest. He gasped and looked up to find the teen's body wreathed in layers of sheer indigo and amber. _His aura,_ Merlin realized, noting the tightly wrapped layers of various fiery colors around his own forearm. Arthur and Gwen had them too, but more monochrome with less distinct layers. Mordred's looked more troublingly different though. The swathes of ultraviolet were sheer and thin. They looked so  delicate, a distinction which could have been beautiful if not for the way the circles of brightness over his brow, heart and pulse points were slightly dimmer than anyone else's, or the ever-shifting, dissonant webs stretching up from the back of the boy's wrist and tapering off towards his shoulder. They almost looked like cracks or tears. This was a fleeting glimpse of the world as Mordred saw it, forced artificially to the fore by a cascade of suppressed magic. The seemingly timeless moment ended in the blink of an eye, and the world returned to its usual predictable solidity. There was a moment of silence while everyone recovered from the shock.

Arthur was still staring at his hand, causing Merlin to wonder fleetingly if he could possibly have seen it too, but no he'd watched the King freeze along with the rest of the chamber. Gaius was pinching the bridge of his nose to preempt a light-induced headache. Merlin and the Queen exchanged a weighted glance.

Mordred was lying so utterly still that Merlin might have thought him dead if he hadn't felt the Druid's heart beating under his palm. Mordred snapped awake with a gasp.

"Morgana!" he rasped out, sending himself into a coughing fit.

"Wait, relax," Merlin urged, catching the youth by his shoulders. "Don't try to get up. You're safe. You're in the Physician's Chambers."

Mordred's intent blue eyes assessed the other man's face before lighting with recognition; his tensed muscles relaxed.

"Yes, just me!" Merlin said with the faintest hint of irony belying his lopsided smile. Mordred shot the older man a look but didn't appear to have the energy to engage him further. Merlin felt the side of his patient's neck to confirm that he was recovering while Arthur moved to stand on Mordred's other side.

"It's good to have you back," Arthur greeted.

Mordred smiled slightly and nodded his agreement.

"Merlin?" Arthur questioned, seeing the servant's frown.

"His fever's gone."

"That's a good thing."

"Yes, and his heart-rate is back to normal…" Merlin said, checking Mordred's eyes. "It's as though he was never even ill." He noticed the curiosity in Arthur and Gwen's faces as they watched him, and disassembled, "It's just… Gwen was right, whatever Morgana did to that artifact, I think it was sustaining the curse." He caught his mentor's eye, adding, "It's lucky that she was here to intervene."

Gaius averted his gaze to the counter top, confirming Merlin's suspicions.

Later, after Mordred had been released to his own quarters and the King and Queen were off attending to courtly affairs, Merlin finally confronted his mentor.

"You lied. You knew that the Eye of Wyrd was draining him."

Gaius set their dinner down on the table and turned away to grab utensils, still not fully acknowledging the attempt at conversation.

"Would it have killed him?" Merlin pressed.

"Possibly. It may just as easily have absorbed his magic-"

"Why would you do that? I thought that we were trying to cure Mordred! What happened to giving him a chance?" Merlin asked, not sure what he was angry about. Whether it was the thought of Gaius setting his own patient up to be killed, or the fact that he was the one who'd convinced Merlin not to oppose said patient, it felt too personal.

"You didn't tell me what he was! Clairvoyants are dangerous, Merlin. There is no telling what Mordred will be capable of once he grows into his true potential. Once that happens, we might find that we have no chance of stopping him," Gaius slumped into his seat at the table. He added in a small, brittle voice, "You are not a killer." Merlin was gaping at him, but he snapped out of it quickly, taking his seat with an expression of stubborn certainty.

"Neither are you." It was stated with utter finality, signaling the end of the discussion for good.

Gaius hoped without much real belief that the matter could be laid to rest.

* * *

Elyan walked through the Knights' quarter only half aware, running over the past few days in his head. Mordred was a member of the Pendragon line. He was the lost heir to the throne for whom Arthur had sent them searching years ago. More importantly, he was Elyan's friend and for Mordred's safety, the King had bid him to lie. To his friend. About the boy's true identity. He wasn't so sure that he could keep doing something like that. He walked past the open door to Mordred's room. It had been left in a bit of a mess. _Wait._

Elyan took a few steps back and looked at the uncharacteristically messy room, the door standing ajar, the small wooden chest lying abused and discarded atop the torn bedding. Everything that he was seeing was wrong. His hand went to his sword without a second thought.

"Guards!" he called, searching the room for signs of an unwelcome visitor. He found a dead guard lying face down on the floor on the other side of the bed. His uniform had been stripped off and stolen. Elyan turned the cold body over as the guards rushed into the room. The man's throat had been slit. "Alert the King. There is a murderer in our midst."

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, so there's the end f that episode. I hope you liked it. Thanks for reading, either way, and special thanks to _Agana of the Night, Linorien,_ and _catherine10_ for their reviews.


	17. Someone Else

**Episode 4: The Ascension of Mordred LeFay**

" _You know those nights, when you're sleeping, and it's totally dark, and absolutely silent, and there is only blackness, and this is the reason, it's because on those nights you've gone away. On those nights, you're in someone else's dream, you're busy in someone else's dream..."_

 _-Laurie Anderson (Someone Else's Dream)_

Chapter One: Night

Nuala walked towards the warm light of the kitchen. Someone had gone and lit the two candles set on the table. He nodded his head in greeting when she entered, a sly smile adorning his stolen face. Nuala sat in the chair across from him-or rather, them- giving the stolen man facing her an unimpressed perusal.

"It has been a long time," she remarked, folding her hands neatly on the table top. "Who are you this time?"

"Walker."

"Hmm."

"He broke into this house a week ago."

"I remember. I suppose you find that fitting." Nuala leaned back in her chair, making herself more comfortable.

"After a fashion. He was looking into a new, delectable young traveler. That one was here too, after the fact." 'Walker' grinned mischievously. "I think I gave him a bit of a scare. And isn't that promising! They don't usually notice my presence so quickly, but this new outfit of mine should take care of that now."

"I happen to be fond of Sir Mordred," Nuala dissented. "His people are mine by the Old Laws, you know that."

The being in Walker tsked, flashing Nuala a knowing look, "Now, now, that is up for interpretation. The boy's a stray. He's unsworn, and unclaimed no matter how much he pleases you."

"Not for long."

The being's amused smirk became more prominent. "I could tell! That's what I'm here for. I have an exchange for you."

"You want hunting rights? Here? Darling, I think you've been away too long," Nuala laughed out. "We aren't Gods anymore, not in this land. I would have thought this poor man's memories revealed that much before you came to me," she said, gesturing towards the stolen man across from her.

Another, less mischievous, smile from the being in Walker served to concede her point. However, the being herself didn't seem ready to give up. She slid a polished, wooden box across the table. "Which brings me to my proposal."

Nuala opened the box and eyed the finely hewn stone inside, then shut it carefully. Her expression was completely serious for the first time since her guest's arrival. "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

"Mordred," Arthur said pointedly, prompting the teenager in question to shift his gaze from the window. His innocent expression might have fooled Arthur if it hadn't appeared so abruptly.

"Yes, Sire?"

"You were letting your attention wander again. Look, I know how boring these lessons are, believe me - but you need to learn these things," Arthur related, remembering suffering through similar lectures from Lord Geoffrey in his own youth.

"Do I really?" Mordred inquired in exactly the same teasing tone that his mother used to employ on Arthur when she felt he was being particularly thick. As always, it instantly put him on the defensive, only amplified by the unwitting likeness.

"Yes, Sir Mordred, you do," Arthur replied in a warning tone. He nudged the parchment between them, adding, "Now, the House of Hoel: name the current head and his successors in order. Or must we start this all over again?"

"You're trying to trick me. The Duchess Elaine governs Tintagel by proxy through her ten-year-old son Gwalchmai. By the laws of Tintagel, a woman cannot be Head of the Royal Household."

"That's true, which is why 'the late Duke Gorlois II of Cornwall, succeeded by his son Gwalchmai would be the correct answer to my question," Arthur amended. "Pay attention."

Mordred scrunched up his face, seeming almost affronted by the new information. "That makes no sense! He's dead: he cannot lead anyone."

"That is their tradition. It is the way they've always governed."

"Only it isn't," Mordred muttered rebelliously. "It's physically impossible unless they are all shades."

"That is disrespectful, and I'll not have you speaking like that in front of company. This is precisely why you need to learn these things. You need to understand how to speak to these people," Arthur scolded, rubbing at his brow.

"Once again, Sire, I find myself wondering why," Mordred prodded in a carefully gentle tone. "I know that you can't have tutored Sir Gwaine in these matters. As a knight, would I not serve you better through battle, and tactical knowledge rather than-" He made a broad gesture, indicating the piles of parchment spread over the table. "political recall?"

"I am endlessly thankful for your dissimilarity to Gwaine," Arthur joked, then let out a small sigh when it did nothing to shift his nephew's penetrating stare. "There is more than one way to win a battle, Sir Mordred, and I believe that if you would just apply yourself, you could excel at methods used well beyond the battlefield."

Mordred straightened, looking taken aback. After recovering from his surprise he remarked, "You flatter me, your Majesty."

"I am merely stating the truth," Arthur disagreed. A little voice at the back of his mind that sounded a lot like Merlin's chided, _Well, it's only part of the truth. That's not really being honest, Arthur,_ and he did his best to silence it. He saw the secret Prince begin to eye the parchment interestedly and covered it with his hand splayed flat, feeling his mood lifting again. "And their allies?"

Mordred's brows pinched together ever so slightly as he tried to remember. "The House of Hoel is allied with Caerleon, Gorre… Oh, good evening. Has something important come up?" the young knight inquired hopefully, looking past Arthur to someone standing in the doorway.

"Yes, _Mer_ lin, what is it you had to barge in here for?" Arthur asked, turning to look at the servant-who-would-not-knock standing behind him.

"Gwen's hungry."

"What?"

"The Queen requests to know whether you're still planning on having dinner with her tonight," Merlin relayed, sounding more adequately formal despite the very Merlin air of sarcasm underlying his delivery.

Arthur looked at the melting candle on the shelf to his right and blew out a breath.

"I can study the parchments more in my free time, Sire. I really wouldn't want to keep you," Mordred offered.

Arthur nodded. "We'll go over it again tomorrow."

"Yes, Sire." Mordred agreed, with a barely noticeable pout as he bowed. He smiled at Merlin in thanks for holding the door for him on his way out. (Mordred rolls his eyes, and stuffs the scrolls under his arm. "As if I would ever need to rely on memory. If I want to know you, I do, from your favorite color to your mother's least favorite childhood neighbor. I have no interest in personal trivia. Unless a person is important to me it is meaningless clutter for the mind. What I'm interested to learn is why the King thinks that I should.")

"You really ought to study those," Merlin advised, falling into step with the Druid on his way towards the Knights' Quarter. "Arthur must have a good reason for teaching you all of that."

Mordred looked the older man over with a scrutinizing gaze. It wasn't exactly the norm for Emrys to take an interest in his personal choices unless they pertained to the King's well-being in some way.

"The King has taken it upon himself to teach you something. How often do you think that sort of thing happens?" Merlin pointed out.

"He leads the knights' trainings regularly," Mordred recalled, earning a flat look from Merlin. "I understand the point you're making. Although, I think the matter was settled when the King bid me to do it." Mordred studied Merlin's face through slightly narrowed eyes before inquiring mentally, **Do** **you** **know why he is teaching me himself, Emrys?**

"I think he has high hopes for you, Sir Mordred," Merlin answered aloud, picturing a blank wall rather forcefully at Mordred. It was confirmation that he probably knew something, at least.

"That still bothers you. Why?" Mordred asked, aloud this time.

"I don't know you, but I am sure that you will make a fine knight." The way Merlin's voice tightened slightly around those last words spoke of how little he still thought of the younger mage. A fact that was growing more and more tiresome.

"I hope that someday you will find it in your heart to consider me more than the sum of my past mistakes, Emrys," Mordred said calmly, "Until then, I can only try to do the best of which I am capable." He flashed a wry smile at the vaguely-disgruntled manservant as he turned the corner to head downstairs. "Good night, Emrys, and sleep well."

* * *

Arthur pulled the door shut behind himself and headed towards the Royal Chambers, still fretting over what he was going to do about his nephew. Merlin had been right; he couldn't keep the boy in the dark forever. On the other hand, Arthur couldn't imagine a way that telling him would go well in the current tense climate that had settled over Camelot of late. Quite a few members of the Royal Council-mostly those inducted under Uther's reign- had 'voiced concerns' at granting a slave a knighthood let alone a Druid. Arthur had hoped that his people would have the wisdom to see past the old prejudices of wartime, but he hadn't been terribly surprised to see that not all of them had. Shortly after, rumors had started that Mordred had witch's blood- which, Arthur mentally conceded was technically true- or that he was a spy with magic of his own, or some even more ridiculous monstrosity. Mordred had to have heard of them, not that one could tell with the stoic mask that the young man always wore. There were whispers of a new warlord gaining power in the North. Morgana and her Saxon horde were as busy as ever too, and although no one spoke of it in Court, it didn't take a Seer to note that sooner or later one of them would make a play for Arthur's throne… Because he didn't have an heir. There was no way this wouldn't look bad. He couldn't keep lying forever.

"There you are, Princess," Gwaine's voice drew the King out of his thoughts. "I was wondering if I could have a word with you about something."

"I'm just on my way to dinner." Arthur noted the discomfort in his knight's dark eyes. "Walk with me?"

"That'll do."

"What is it? You seem…" Arthur cast around for a fitting descriptor for Sir Gwaine's countenance. "Sober."

"I am, actually. I do plan to fix that soon enough, but first you should know, Sire," Gwaine paused to look around and make sure no one was listening. "I think that Walker might've had something to do with the break in."

"Walker?" Arthur echoed incredulously. "Mordred's wolf crippled him-"

"No," Gwaine muttered, with a shake of his head.

"-Queen Annis has him locked up in her dungeons for murder-"

"Not anymore."

"-if she hasn't already had him beheaded," Arthur soldiered on.

"She hasn't," Sir Gwaine informed him.

"And what makes you so certain of that?" Arthur said in a voice already laced with resignation.

"I spoke with him in the pub a few weeks back. He bought me a pint and made insinuations about Sir Mordred. I told him to piss off," Gwaine recounted. "I was considering taking him on myself after I saw him lingering near the training ground the next day, but then he seemed to have disappeared. I figured someone else had probably confronted him and that he was gone."

"I sense a 'but' coming." Arthur remarked.

"I thought I saw him out in the courtyard the night of our return from Nemeth. I couldn't be sure in the dark of night, but he was loitering by one of the servant's entrances and he ducked out of sight when he caught me looking."

"Why didn't you report it then?"

"I did. The Captain of the Guard took it for a drunken fantasy. To be fair to him, Sire, it didn't make much sense. I saw Walker disappear into a dead end. Literally. I looked all around for some hiding place or some way that he could've slipped past." Gwaine pushed his hair out of his face, scowling in frustration at the nonsensical memory. "He was just there one moment, and then he wasn't. I still can't explain it."

"If Walker had magic, Mordred and I would both have died in Caerleon."

"I know. I told you I can't explain it," Sir Gwaine affirmed. "It happened."

Arthur eyed the older man carefully for a moment before deciding. "Fine. I'm calling a meeting tomorrow morning, as you know. We'll discuss it then. Lord Rhidian will be visiting in a few days' time, and we cannot afford to have Walker ruining his visit. I don't want word of it passing outside the Round Table, understood?"

"Yes, Sire. My lips are sealed," Sir Gwaine assured him, then his serious expression relaxed. "Now if you don't mind, as you yourself noticed, I find that I am entirely too sober for this time of night."

"Have a good night, Sir Gwaine. Do try not to make a fool of yourself."

Gwaine did a little half-assed bow as he walked away, calling. "Do I ever?"

Arthur shook his head at the irony, and let himself into the quarters he shared with his Queen.

* * *

Mordred stripped down to his breeches and headed for bed, stopping short with a wry huff of breath when Bran jumped up onto the mattress before he could, taking up most of the space. Mordred prodded the animal's side.

"Budge over," he urged tiredly.

The wolf yawned at him.

"Move." Mordred pushed his lazy familiar off center of the already crowded single bed, bunching up the furs and blankets in the process. His brow crinkled in annoyance. "Now look at it." He flopped down on the mattress and tried to pull the piled coverings out from under Bran, only getting an unhelpful lick on the wrist for his troubles. Then his familiar finally moved, but only to rest his big, furry head and front paws on Mordred's bare chest. "No. I see the drool! Not on my… Damn," he sighed out the last word in defeat, too worn out to bother.

The wolf licked his chops and let out a bored-sounding whine.

"Yes, I get it. I will find a way to take you out again." Mordred would be meeting that peddler in the forest tomorrow afternoon to replace the protection that had been stolen from him. This would be the last night he would spend vulnerable, and that in itself was comforting. Bringing his wolf to ensure against a double-cross was probably the wise move anyway. Mordred ran his fingers through the soft fur on Bran's head and closed his eyes, gradually relaxing into sleep. Bran's breathing evened out and shifted into a softly whistling snore that made the tired Druid smile affectionately. Just when he was almost out for the night Mordred snapped fully awake. His mental defenses were all flying back into place too late. He realized that he couldn't move.

There was a figure silhouetted by moonlight at the foot of Mordred's bed. It looked like a man, but the potent, almost smothering waves of magic rolling off of the figure gave its true nature away. Mordred's head was beginning to hurt as the raw power seeped in through his aura, bleeding through the points of flickering haze. The figure tilted its head to one side reflectively and the torrent lessened. The safeguard he'd tucked away was gone. There was only one other chance…

Mordred reached out for his only viable source of aid as the figure walked around the bed towards him, and by the Goddess that face was too familiar! **"Emr-"** Mordred's call was stopped short when the being in Walker's body grabbed Mordred's forehead. Everything went black.

A woman's voice whispered into Mordred's consciousness. _"Shhhh. Be still."_ The instruction wasn't stated with an overt force; she didn't need to use force. It would be foolish to disobey one of her kind. "Now, who is Emrys?" she giggled, amused by his surprise. _"I know. Who is he to you?"_ The knowledge flowed out of Mordred unbidden. _"Hmmm. Interesting."_

Bran was growling. Mordred got the feeling that he'd been doing that for a while. At least he wasn't being hurt.

"Oh, Silly. Why would I want to harm you now? You'd be no fun anymore."

That was not remotely encouraging. The darkness overtook Mordred again, then he jerked awake in bed. His heart pounded like a war drum as he scrambled back against the headboard with a breathless yell. The intruder was gone. Bran was standing guard at his bedside, staring fixedly at the open window. _Oh._

Mordred jumped up out of bed and pulled the shutters closed with a clack. She knows everything that I do about Emrys. _Fuck._ He leaned his forehead against the window, steadying his breathing. A sharp knock rattled his door and Mordred nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Mordred?" Merlin's voice questioned quietly.

"Y-yes," the young knight acknowledged, just a second before the older mage went ahead and let himself in.

"What just happened?" Merlin scrutinized the shaken-looking teen. "I felt something… wrong. Are you alright?"

"Not really," Mordred answered, walking around to sit on the foot of his bed with his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, Emys. One of the 'Folk was here. She extracted all my knowledge of you. I could do nothing to stop it."

"Wait, what 'Folk? She did what?" Emrys knelt down in front of the dejected Clairvoyant, looking confused and worried. Mordred wasn't even going to try to guess at why.

"The 'Folk. The Fair Folk," Mordred looked up to see no sign of comprehension on the Guardian's face. "Gentian? Lost Gods? You know, the Fae?"

"Right," Emrys acknowledged, not seeming to take the news with the gravity that it warranted, even if he no longer seemed confused. "Why you?"

Mordred gave him a flat look. "I didn't think to ask. She's gone now in any case, but I doubt that I could hold any true interest for such a being. You should be wary."

"Do you think she might be after Arthur?"

"I think she's likely after you," Mordred spelled it out for him, tugging a blanket off his bed to cover his own bare torso.

"Oh, really?"

"You are the most powerful warlock alive, Emrys. If anyone here is even close to matching the power of the Fae it would be you." Mordred rubbed a shaky hand through his locks, trying to mask his lingering fear with irritation.

"Are you hurt?"

"I don't- Not physically," Mordred replied shortly. "And not in any way that would threaten the King."

"That isn't why I asked, Mordred," Emrys shot back, with an insulted frown.

Mordred stared at him for a moment, beginning to feel a little guilty. He hadn't expected that. "I'm sorry."

Merlin watched him patiently.

"The barriers around my mind have been weakened, but there is little that you can do about that," Mordred carefully admitted. He had almost thought he could just tell Emrys about the magical ailment he'd gotten from Morgana, but he'd caught himself just in time. The older sorcerer might care for him more than he'd previously let on, but that did not make them friends. They were only allies on a good day.

"I could at least try to ease the pain," Merlin offered, reaching up to place a simple spell over Mordred's nerves. The Druid flinched away, catching his wrist in a vise-grip before it could reach his temple.

"No!" Mordred cleared his throat self-consciously and lowered his voice from its inappropriate volume. "That isn't necessary."

Merlin eyed him suspiciously.

"I would rather retain what remaining control over my mind I have left," Mordred explained, hoping the sympathy card would work with the distrustful warlock. It did. Merlin retracted his hand with a guilty expression.

"I understand." Merlin cast his gaze around the darkened room uncertainly, and after a moment of consideration Mordred reached past him.

"Forbærne." Mordred's eyes flashed with magic and a fire crackled to life in the small fireplace. "You won't tell on me for that, will you?"

"Be careful."

"I'm not going to be able to sleep now. There's nowhere she won't be able to reach me if she wants to, once you've gone back to your rooms," Mordred pointed out, getting up and grabbing a shirt at random.

"I don't know very much about the Fae," Merlin admitted thoughtfully. "I didn't really know any other magic users until I came here. If you want me to stay with you, maybe you could teach me some of the basics?"

"How little do you know?"

"I had to stop a Sidhe from eloping with Arthur once, if that helps." Merlin offered. "They're related aren't they?"

Mordred turned slowly to face him, looking the older man over before stating grimly, "This is going to take a while."

* * *

She stepped through the cracked and moldy door to Walker's little hidden shack. Her host's hideout was literally at the edge of town. It wasn't certain whether this was due to his inborn paranoia, or his disinterest in human contact. It was probably a bit of both. She walked to the back of the shack to scavenge the cupboard for a bite of something to tide him over. As psychopathic as the man clearly was, he felt ambivalent about her preferred source of sustenance, so his would have to do for the time being. They were lying low, after all. A tentative knock sounded at the door and she turned to regard the portal with an arched brow.

"Speaking of local fare..." Walker's possessor remarked with a smirk. She went and answered the door, sizing up the young, shivering messenger boy standing stiffly in the rain. "Too stringy," she concluded grabbing the leather-wrapped parcel out of his arms and shutting the door in his face.

"Er…" the poor, nervous boy's voice squeaked uncertainly. "Excuse me, Mi'lad-"

The door opened again and a sack of silver pieces bounced off the lad's rain-soaked chest into his reflexively grasping hands.

"Shoo!" The door was slammed in his face again and this time he hastily fled back down the dirt path leading to the village proper.

On the other side of the door, the being unwrapped Walker's parcel. There was a no doubt highly expensive bejeweled, gilded silver gauntlet. She threw it away over her shoulder and pulled out the accompanying roll of fine parchment. "Ah- ha. Standing orders. Well, this looks fun! Why not play along for a while? Sir Mordred of Camelot, I just knew that you'd be interesting."

* * *

5 Days Later

" _It's like you're driving an overloaded wagon. You've gone for leagues and leagues, fleeing until you can no longer measure how far you've driven or where there is left to go. You've lost the sense of your destination, and you know that you cannot flee any further. Suddenly you realize you must stop. You tighten the reigns and all that piled cargo, all your hidden works and precious treasures fly forward. Your past over takes you."_

The memory of Mordred's voice followed Merlin into consciousness to meet the cold patter of rain falling on his chilled skin. He was lying on dirty cobblestones and his body carried an overall dull ache. When he attempted to prop himself up on an elbow and blearily survey his surroundings a cracked rib made its presence known. Merlin's nose and lip were both bloody, and when he reached up to wipe his split lip he noticed his scraped and bruised knuckles. It all came flooding back.

The argument… chasing one all-too-understandably-obstinate-novice out into the alley behind the tavern, only to find that apologizing didn't matter so much, because large men in cloaks were trying to kidnap said obstinate knight. Then they were fighting and Merlin wasn't a good physical fighter. He couldn't find an opening to use his magic without making things worse. He shouldn't have worried...

"You bastard," Emrys surged to his feet despite his protesting ribs and ran out into the dawn lit mouth of the alley. "Mordred!" If that calculating little shit got himself killed, Merlin was going to drag him right back into this world and murder him himself. _"Mordred! Where are you?"_ He thought as loudly as he could in his semi-disoriented state.

 **"Do not search for me, Emrys."** The reply was troublingly faint.

* * *

 **A/N** : I know this is short. The next one will be longer. I hope that you enjoyed this much at least, regardless, thanks for reading. Special thanks to _Agana of the Night_ and _catherine10_ for their reviews.


	18. Dark

**A/N: I'd just like to apologize/warn you guys: I wrote this while very interested in experimenting with different styles. In this episode I was playing with the idea of telling a story by showing two different time frames in parallel. I'd already written a huge portion of this Ep before my Beta informed me that that is friggin' confusing. _Sorry! (expletive deleted)_ The future-ish time frame is clearly marked as it was in the last chapter... if that helps?**

Chapter 2: Dark

"I'm not sure how I'm supposed to fight a being of such power," Merlin admitted, watching Mordred pour himself a drink of water from the pitcher resting by his bedroom window.

"I would advise you not to," the Druid answered pragmatically. "It would be wisest for you simply to avoid a confrontation if at all possible, even a sorcerer as powerful as you, has his limits."

"This Fae has broken into the citadel, attacked a knight-"

"A novice," Mordred idly corrected him, gesturing with the hand holding his cup.

"He's likely the one who killed that guard after we broke Morgana's curse."

"This one's actually a she\- Walker's body notwithstanding," Mordred amended, taking a sip of water before adding. "And she only attacked me in order to learn all that I knew about you."

"Stop interrupting me, Mordred," Merlin admonished, irritated.

"Sorry. I am fairly certain that I am beginning to feel the after effects of her intrusion, which is going to be very dangerous... It isn't nearly as unpleasant as I feared."

"What are you afraid of?" Merlin asked. Now that he took a closer look at the younger man, he could see the Clairvoyant no longer appeared quite so lucid. His eyes were fever bright and an odd giddiness was peeking out behind his usually mild expression.

"Oh, quite a lot actually, but mostly myself," Mordred replied enthusiastically. "I was horrified when she came for me. I tried to call you, even though you still want me dead- I act like I don't know, but I do. I thought that we might get along better if you thought I didn't- Still, she could've killed me. I mean, I always figured that I would die young. I have accepted my fate," Mordred blew out a sarcastic scoff. His strange, carefree air was not affected in the slightest by the darkness of his admission. "Not that fate!"

Merlin stared at him with his mouth hanging open slightly and his brows pinched together. His expression was a perfect blend of shock and incredulity. "Sir Mordred?"

"I shouldn't have said all of that aloud. I'm losing my inhibitions. I could do anything, no matter what it'll do to me and I'm not even as bothered by it as I should be," Mordred rambled on.

"That sounds bad." Merlin stood up and walked over to face the chuckling teen. "Will it last? Put that down!" Merlin pulled the intoxicated novice's hand away from the lit candle he'd begun to toy with.

"You should stop me."

Merlin considered him seriously for a second, weighing his options. Mordred's hand gradually slipped into the candle flame again, hovering mere inches from the sword beside it. "Stop that." Merlin yanked the rebellious limb back out of harm's way.

"What is Arthur doing in the library at this hour?" Mordred pondered randomly as Merlin pressed his palm to the delirious druid's temple.

"Onslæp nu!" he muttered and caught Mordred's limp body before he could hit the floor. "Wait. What did he just say?"

Bran picked his head up off his front paws to regard the warlock.

"Arthur is in the library?" Merlin let out an amused breath, depositing his sleeping burden in the bed before he left.

* * *

It was too early in the morning when Arthur first crept down to meet with Lord Geoffrey in the candlelit library for the second time that week, but that was the very reason they were meeting now. It was just before dawn, early enough that even a manservant like George would not have thought to wake his King for a good hour or so. The old record keeper had been putting off this second meeting with excuse after ever flimsier excuse and Arthur was done indulging him. It was obvious that the old man knew the truth about Morgana's hidden pregnancy and he was likely complicit in Uther's deception.

"Lord Geoffrey, thank you for agreeing to meet with me at such an unusual hour," Arthur greeted, walking up to the other man's text-and-parchment-strewn desk.

"As you bid me, Sire. I have searched for the records you requested. However, I must reiterate: such a request is utterly unprecedented…" Geoffrey trailed off, noticing Arthur's stony expression.

"I know you have the proof that I require. I feared that my father may have ordered it destroyed." Arthur paused for a moment to fight back a wave of conflicting emotions regarding his father's betrayal and the other man took it as an opportunity to council him.

"You must understand - whatever you may think of your father, he only did what he thought he must for the sake of Camelot's future."

"So he told me," Arthur said quietly, more a reminder to himself than anything else. The last conversation he had shared with his father's specter a couple of months back had put a few things in perspective for him.

"Pardon?"

"You have the documents with you?" Arthur prompted rather than clarifying.

"Please, King Arthur. I must advise that you reconsider…"

"Geoffrey. I have known you since before I could remember. I know you to be a good, and honest man," Arthur stated earnestly, his voice gradually rising out of frustration as he continued, "Which is why I am having so much trouble understanding why you would so stubbornly persist in this injustice. I know what my father did to my nephew and his mother. It was a cruel and callous act. All that I ask is that you help me to make it right. Why do you continue to resist?!"

The sound of the door shutting unexpectedly jolted them out of their confrontation.

"Who's there?" Arthur demanded, only to relax his shoulders in relief at the sight of Merlin wandering into view looking apologetic.

"Sorry. I-er- I couldn't sleep," he shrugged, giving them a lopsided smile as he trudged past Arthur towards the far shelf. Arthur sighed long-sufferingly and caught his arm.

"Sit down, Merlin. You might as well hear this now anyway."

"Sire. Do you think that's wise?"

"I do," Arthur replied in a tone that brooked no argument. "So tell me then, Lord Geoffrey, why do you find it of such dire importance that we deprive Sir Mordred of his birthright? And don't bother telling me that he's a Druid; I'll not condemn him for that and neither will you."

"Because, Sire, Mordred's coming was foretold shortly before his birth. His own people spoke of a Druid Prince who would rise up to bring vengeance upon those who had wronged his kin. In the words of the Seer herself 'this leader born of two warring peoples would wield a great power and influence, such that he might bring the kingdom to its knees'."

There was a beat of heavy silence while Merlin watched Arthur consider the old Council member's warning words. In contrast with the outright dread that the prophecy brought to Emrys' heart, the Once and Future King's reaction was difficult to gauge until he opened his mouth to reply, with a pinched expression usually reserved for hassling Merlin. In retrospect, it shouldn't have been a surprise.

"Of course he has that power; he is heir to the throne." Arthur shrugged the warning off with more than a hint of irritation. "Since when do _you_ listen to the ramblings of a Seer?"

The record-keeper blinked incredulously and flashed Merlin a pleading look. The manservant, however, was tilting his head to one side as he reflected on his friend's unexpectedly insightful observation.

"You know, he has a point…" he thought aloud, feeling more than a little unsettled by the implications of this new perspective on Mordred's destiny.

"Of course I do, _Mer_ lin. That so-called foretelling is obviously nonsense," Arthur dismissed. "I can't imagine that my father would truly fall for it. 'Bring the kingdom to its knees…' Honestly! You have met Mordred?" Arthur shook his head at the absurdity of the idea.

"But his vengeance is said to-"

"Geoffrey," Arthur cut in firmly, clarifying in clipped tones reminiscent of a disappointed parent, "I am his kin." He stretched out his hand and Geoffrey tentatively surrendered two finely made scrolls that he'd kept tucked away in a locked compartment in his desk. "Thank you." Arthur perused the first scroll that verified his nephew's identity and lineage. He proceeded to skim over the next, only to glare at the last paragraph as if the it had wronged him personally somehow. "For what crime was his father put to death?"

"Sorcery, Sire. On the grounds that he had bewitched the Lady Morgana."

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, mourning the loss of yet another of his people. If the man even had been. The incident did sound eerily similar to the charges that Uther had tried to pin on Gwen when he learned of Arthur's feelings for her.

"What did Gaius have to say about it?" the blond royal questioned. It appeared his thoughts were running along the same lines as Merlin's.

"He was not consulted on the matter, Sire."

Arthur grimaced and pushed the documents into Merlin's arms. "I see. Thank you, Lord Geoffrey. You've done the right thing in sharing this with me." Arthur's smile was strained, and Merlin clearly heard him mutter "Finally," under his breath on his way out.

* * *

Shortly after breakfast, Queen Guinevere held a small court for older and more elite residents of Camelot who seemed to be growing restless of late. Sir Mordred, Sir Percival and Sir Gwaine had gotten the short end of the stick this time and were called to accompany her. Mordred was becoming suspicious that someone was fixing the draw as this was the fifth time in a row that he'd been assigned to this task, not that he minded. It was the unlikelihood of it that bothered him more than anything… until now.

"Lord save us from the rich and entitled," Sir Gwaine lamented just loudly enough that Mordred who was standing immediately to his left, closest to the throne, could hear him. Sir Percival who was standing on Gwaine's right and slightly behind him, gave his roguish friend a warning nudge. Mordred glanced back at them, allowing himself a fleeting hint of a smile when his eyes met Sir Gwaine's. The rebellious noble grinned at the victory. When Mordred returned his attention to the proceedings he noticed they had missed the latest introduction. The man looked well-off but not noble. Ah, Mordred flickered his focus through the man's consciousness to find he was a brothel owner and son of a dishonored foreign Duke. Not uninteresting, yet not incredibly relevant until-

"I come to you with but a minor concern for your gentle ears, your Majesty," Elton, Son of Ellis began with a pompous sort of modesty. "It is a concern nonetheless. I have heard troubling rumors. There is talk of a witch's spawn prowling the streets of our town. I have heard worrying stories from my girls, one of whom swears the creature sought to bewitch her…"

Mordred only noticed that his shoulders had started to tense when the man's beetle-black eyes swept briefly over him. Their gazes locked for only a fraction of a second but Mordred was all too familiar with the judgment he saw in Elton's sharp eyes. He breathed out the tension and pushed his discomfort away, unwilling to allow this man the slightest impression on his countenance.

"The use of sorcery upon a citizen of Camelot is a very serious accusation to make. Do you have any evidence of such a crime being committed?" Queen Guinevere asked. She didn't sound cold, nor did she show any obvious disapproval. That being said, Mordred couldn't remember hearing the kindhearted woman's tone so absent of sympathy.

"Alas, I do not. I come to you merely out of concern for the safety of my fellow citizens," the 'rich and entitled' simpered, his eyes flickering over Mordred as he spoke the last word.

"Your concern has been noted, Son of Ellis. I do hope that your 'girl' recovers herself in time," Gwen replied politely, not gently.

"I understand, my Queen. I will be sure to speak to her of your encouragement," the man replied slyly, giving a short bow before strutting gracefully out. Gwen looked up at Sir Mordred, more uncomfortable than the druid himself felt.

"How many more wish an audience today?" she asked Lord Geoffrey who was standing on the other side of her throne.

"Lord Marian and Lord Sameth await your attention, your Majesty. Do you wish me to delay them?"

"Only a brief recess, Lord Geoffrey."

The aged scribe nodded patiently and stepped forward to speak with one of his peers standing beside the nearest column. Gwen got up and crossed over to speak with one of the servants lingering along the edge of the room. They seemed to know each other. Going by the woman's age, Mordred would not be surprised to learn that they had once worked together. He felt Gwaine prod his shoulder and turned expectantly as the smiling servant poured the Queen a drink.

"You still with us, Mordred?" Gwaine said teasingly.

"Yes, unfortunately. These audiences usually aren't quite this boring," Mordred replied easily overlooking Percival's lingering focus on him. They were getting along almost the same way they used to before the tattoo incident, although Mordred still hadn't gotten around to apologizing.

"Boring is a good thing. The people of Camelot have nothing to complain about," Sir Gwaine stated, smiling at a disapproving courtier who was clearly listening in for the sake of making a judgment. "Hello there. Having a good day, are ya?"

Mordred watched with open amusement as the other knight walked over and struck up an impromptu conversation with the would-be eavesdropper.

"He was talking about you, wasn't he?" Percival queried softly, drawing Mordred's attention away from Sir Gwaine's flustered prey. "Because you're a Druid."

"I cannot help but wonder how word of my origin managed to reach them, but yes. It seems that some of the villagers know about me," Mordred confirmed, matching his lowered tone.

"I didn't tell a soul, Mordred. You told me you didn't want the others to know."

"And they still do not. Percy, I know that you haven't betrayed my trust," Mordred reassured him as he surveyed the courtiers milling about before them. He turned back to his brother-in-arms. "I never thanked you for that. You've treated me kindly, and been a true friend despite the way I've acted towards you."

"No need, Mordred. We are friends. Besides, I never paid enough thought to the way some around here talk about your people, not to mention their treatment," Percival responded earnestly. A slight frown tugged down the edges of the blond's mouth. "Now that I do, it worries me."

Mordred's expression softened at the show of care. He was very gradually growing accustomed to the occurrence even if he was not yet certain how to cope. "I can weather the whispers of strangers. Life was far harder when I was a child; I could've been killed simply for being here. Now I am a knight who must ignore a few rumors and drunken threats. It's worth the bother when one draws a comparison."

Percival's brows drew together slightly at the mention of threats.

"I'm fine, really. The others haven't accepted the rumors as far as I can tell. As long as you all will accept me, I am satisfied." Mordred reassured him. It was almost entirely true. The rumors did worry him, mostly because he couldn't tell how anyone knew he was a Druid. He had been very careful to keep that information secret to all but a select few, all of whom he could count on one hand.

"You shouldn't have to hide for that to be so," Sir Percival protested.

"Since when has life ever been as it should be?" Mordred pondered, as Sir Gwaine returned to them.

"What's all this about?" Gwaine inquired curiously, noticing Percival's glum expression.

"Nothing that wouldn't bore you. You looked to be enjoying yourself," Mordred redirected, prompting Gwaine into an amusing tangent that chased any further questions from his mind.

Later after the two old, long-winded advisers had spoken their piece and gone, Gwen tiredly dismissed the court.

"That's that done with. Who fancies a drink?" predictably this proposal came from Sir Gwaine.

"I still have duties to attend to," Mordred declined. ("I don't," he confides.)

"As do we," Sir Percival stated pointedly to Gwaine.

"Just popping in to quench our thirst won't hurt anyone," Gwaine disagreed.

"Perhaps another time," Mordred consoled him.

"You always say that."

("I do always say that," Mordred agrees. "I absolutely abhor the thought of being exposed through something so foolish as intoxication. Self-control is vital and it is obvious that Sir Gwaine would endeavor to get me drunk.")

"We'll see you later, Mordred. We have to head into the lower town soon anyway. Wouldn't want to be late," Percival said, patting the teen's shoulder before he made his way out into the hall. Gwaine ambled out behind him with a wave. Mordred looked about at the handful of people still filing out the main exit, then moved to join them.

"Sir Mordred," Gwen called, and he doubled back to join the Queen by the great ceiling-high, stained glass window.

"Yes, Queen Guinevere?"

"I have been meaning to speak with you privately. If you have a moment?" Gwen looked over at him questioningly.

"Yes, Ma'am," he confirmed, folding his hands together behind his back.

"This isn't a formal request, Sir Mordred. You understand."

Mordred nodded, becoming intrigued.

"I'm curious to know where you were when Elyan came upon the murdered guard in your bedchamber? It was my understanding that Gaius had bidden you return there in order to rest for the night."

"Your Majesty, has my allegiance to you come into question?" Mordred asked, calculating different ways they could take this conversation.

Gwen turned to face him fully, her expression chagrined. "Mordred, if that were the case, do you think that I would be the one asking you this?"

Mordred studied her for a moment, then shifted into a more relaxed stance. "No, I suppose not."

"You're always so proper," Gwen assessed fondly. "I won't tell Gaius, either, if that is a worry of yours. I was merely curious."

"The woods," Mordred supplied truthfully.

"You went into the woods? In your condition?"

"It wasn't far. I grew up in the woods; there was little risk to it," Mordred downplayed, adding in response to the Queen's challenging stare. "I was meeting with someone. I did not want to miss her."

"Oh, Mordred," Gwen cooed, thinking the idea sweet now that the possibility of young love presented itself.

"I will not be likely to see her again for some time after today," Mordred added just for the sake of it. "She is only here for a short while. I would rather not have anyone else know of it."

Gwen sobered. "I understand," she said sympathetically. "Of course. I am glad that you see fit to confide in me. I assure you your secret is safe."

Mordred favored her with a grateful smile, "It is good to have someone in whom I can confide," he replied. "If there is nothing more that you need from me, your Majesty."

"Oh, no. Go on. I wouldn't want to keep you too long." Gwen stopped him again once he reached the doorway, "Sir Mordred?"

He noticed a hint of sadness in her eyes. She was facing the windows again, but he got the impression that she was looking back at a memory rather than luminous colored glass.

"Be careful."

"Always," he accepted, making his way out of the court.

* * *

A golden-haired woman, in a green linen cloak waited idly under an old oak tree in Camelot's forest. A soft rustling sounded in the bushes across the small clearing and she looked up from the length of cord she had been weaving into a knotted pattern while she waited to see a silver wolf padding towards her. She smirked and tucked away the cord in her bodice, using the tree trunk to push herself upright. She schooled her expression just in time before Mordred followed his wolf into view.

"I was beginning to wonder whether you had forgotten about our meeting," she teased, stalking towards him.

"As if I could forget you," Mordred replied. His modulated tone was laced with affection as he hopped down off of a root formation to land in front of her. She stole a quick kiss before he had time to react. The sneaky peck on the lips drew the flicker of a grin from him. The girl smiled victoriously, even while the young knight took a conscientious step back.

"Still adorable," she informed him. Mordred didn't acknowledge the accusation, willfully reinstating his stoic front. His accuser giggled, only finding him cuter for it.

"Have you found it, Kara?" Mordred inquired, trying to stick to the business at hand. He didn't want to endanger his childhood friend, and sticking around him longer than she had to was likely to do just that if Mordred's experience had taught him anything.

"I asked around, even did a little searching for myself," Kara smirked again at Mordred's wide eyes in response. "No need to give me that look, no one saw anything. I am sorry, Mordred, but it hasn't come back on the market. As unlikely as it sounds, whoever took the statuette, they aren't trying to sell it. It must have been another sorcerer."

"That is profoundly unlikely," Mordred said flatly, looking away towards a swell in the ground and a warped willow that together created some very convenient cover.

Kara cupped his jaw, gently turning his face back to hers.

"I can take another day. Those new friends I am meeting with won't be expecting me for a while."

"I don't want to hold you back," Mordred declined, trying not to be distracted by how close her face was getting to his own.

"I wouldn't mind it if you did," she popped up on her tiptoes and kissed him again, properly this time. Mordred grabbed her shoulders intending to push her away, although her answering grip on his cloak made the attempt a bit problematic. Really, who could fault him for the lapse?

Once they parted Kara leaned close to whisper in his ear, much as a lover might whisper sweet nothings. "You were followed. We are being observed by a man behind that tree."

Mordred looped his hands loosely around her waist, playing along and closed his eyes for a moment, using his Clairvoyance to verify what he already knew. **"It is nothing to worry about. I will handle him myself once you've gone,"** he informed his alert protector, adding out loud. "I am going to miss you."

Kara pulled back to look him in the eye. "You should come with me."

"Kara," Mordred chastened, not wanting to restart this old argument. At least before, he could admit her side had some merit to it - but now?

"We can be free," she insisted.

"Camelot is not as it once was. Druids are welcomed by Arthur's court."

"Both of us," Kara stressed her point with a light tap of her fingertip to his temple.

"I am free."

Kara scoffed and pulled away, trudging over to scoop up her bag from beneath the oak tree.

"I know that it is hard for you to accept," Mordred continued. "I do like it here. I am a knight now. The people here are kind to me. I have friends here."

"Those friends do not know you. Not the real you. If they did you would not be so quick to deny our offer."

"I have chosen my place," Mordred pronounced, watching her pace back towards him with open displeasure. "It is here. I do not expect you to like that, or even to approve, although I had hoped that you could accept it."

"You were right before. I shouldn't stay here any longer. I never enjoyed watching you do yourself harm," Kara stated coolly. "And I'll be damned if I remain in this place long enough to see you get yourself killed!"

"Do not leave me like this."

"Good bye, Sir Mordred," Kara replied, her anger fading from the forefront. "Do at least attempt to take proper care of yourself."

"For you, Kara, I will try," Mordred promised. The other Druid scrutinized him in search of some sign; he wasn't sure what. Then she nodded once, seeming to have found it.

"Good." With that Kara turned away and slipped into the trees, headed towards the path out of Camelot. Mordred watched her go, then turned back the way he'd come, readjusting his cloak as he walked. He whistled once sharply, prompting his familiar to come trotting up beside him expectantly.

The Druid's eyes flashed once and he smirked, directing, "Faigh sin."

Bran bounded away to pounce on the figure out of sight on the other side of the willow trunk.

"Ah! Bran, wait! Get off," Merlin protested. Mordred strolled over and watched the other mage failing to wrestle the happy wolf off his lap with unmasked enjoyment.

"Mordred, will you call him off?"

Mordred sighed and clicked his fingers twice. "Bran."

The animal relented, wandering over to sniff at a nearby shrubbery.

"Why are you following me, Emrys?"

"I wasn't. I was gathering herbs."

"Really."

"Yes. Really." Merlin held up his bag which did, in fact, contain many loose bunches of medicinal herbs. "I heard your voice and was curious to know why you would be out here."

"So you were spying on me," Mordred determined, not sounding bothered at all.

"I wouldn't… I guess I ended up spying. Accidentally," Merlin admitted awkwardly.

"I trust you, Emrys," Mordred replied as the older man fell into step with him on their way back to the castle. His striking blue eyes took on a mischievous glint. "Enjoy the show did you?"

"I wasn't- Honestly, Mordred!" Merlin noticed the teen's expression and shook his head, letting out a huff of a laugh. They fell into a companionable silence. Finally Merlin had to break it in spite of himself. "That girl, she wanted you to leave with her."

"Yes."

"You love her?"

"Kara and I are... complicated."

Merlin just looked at him.

"Yes, Emrys, I love her, but not in the way she loves me," Mordred confided. "I cannot give her that."

Merlin cast his gaze about for a bit. Surrendering to his own curiosity, he asked, "Why not?"

"She wants a lover, then a husband. That isn't my life."

Merlin paused, opened his mouth as if to dispute those words, paused again, then shut it.

"Hoping to be rid of me?" Mordred half-joked.

"Not really. Just thought you could be happy," Merlin told him honestly, foregoing the fact that yes, Mordred leaving would simplify his life quite a bit.

"It isn't my life," Mordred reiterated, hopping over a downed branch. "And as I told Kara, I do like it here. I am honored to hear you wish me well."

Merlin frowned slightly. "I don't hate you, Mordred, and I don't want you dead," he said, remembering the delirious Clairvoyant's rambling admission the night before. Mordred's open disbelief only caused his frown to deepen. "I never wanted you dead. Up to now I have only tried my best to do what I have to in order to protect Arthur."

"I am no threat to our King now, Emrys. I only want to help you to protect Camelot," Mordred assured him.

"I might be beginning to believe you," Merlin responded seriously. Mordred grinned at him.

"Do you still have more tasks to complete?"

"Not until Arthur finishes with the Council. Why?"

"I think I would like to show you something." Mordred decided as he said it. He needed to bridge this uncertain void they still had between them. A show of confidence would go a long way in achieving that goal. Merlin looked doubtful, but cooperated anyway. Stopping by the empty Physicians' chambers to drop off the herbs and allowing Mordred to lead him in the direction of the palace gardens.

Instead of heading towards the outer door, Mordred pushed his way through an old creaky doorway that opened into a water-stained and dilapidated spiraling stair.

"Um… Mordred? Are you sure that we're supposed to be doing this?" Merlin questioned, watching the young man jog up the stone steps.

"No. It is worth it. Trust me."

Merlin narrowed his eyes at Mordred's disappearing back then followed him up and out into the crumbling tower. He had to admit the view from up there was amazing. They could see virtually the entire extent of the palace gardens below. Mordred plopped down on the edge of the gaping hole left of a crumbling window, dangling one leg over the edge. After a beat of uncertain consideration, Merlin sat down on the other side of the gap, leaning his back against the cracked stone wall. He got the feeling that this place was important to Mordred and he was willing to regard it as the olive branch it represented. They sat there for nearly a half an hour, just quietly basking in the view. As they remained together separated by their own ponderings, storm clouds rolled in to hang ominously overhead. The ghostly behemoths blocked the cheery sunlight from earlier, mirroring the troubling haze that haunted Mordred's mind as much as they matched Merlin's mood. The latter sorcerer had found himself coming to like his possible nemesis in spite of every stubborn effort not to. If this leap of faith that he was contemplating backfired, it would only add to the tragic irony that seemed to plague his every decision. Yet, Merlin still found himself wanting to trust him. Finally, Mordred broke the silence.

"When I stabbed Morgana down in the mines, there was a kind of infection in her aura that spread to me. I have seen it before, the madness that it can bring... I never learned much more about it apart from that I should never allow myself to become afflicted." Mordred let out a poor attempt at a chuckle as his gaze slid to the damaged ledge between them. Admitting his condition aloud seemed to make his inevitable fate somehow more real. "I have no idea how long I have left before it consumes me."

Merlin somberly absorbed the revelation, turning his head away from the breathtaking vista to face the condemned man beside him. "Is that what those rips are?"

Mordred's head snapped up to stare at Emrys, wide-eyed.

"I saw them when Gwen smashed the Eye of Wyrd. There were these flickering, sort of shadowy tears in the light around you. I wondered what they were," he admitted carefully, sensing that this was a fragile moment they were sharing. "It didn't look pleasant."

Mordred shut his eyes against the imagined picture of what he might look like by now, and turned to stare out at the gardens without really seeing them.

"Hold on, you said that Morgana has it too. Do you know how long she could've-"

"No," Mordred answered tightly. "I told you, I've always done the best I could to avoid it. I cannot be certain that I hadn't simply blocked it out early on so that I didn't have to let go. It doesn't matter anymore." Mordred lifted his right arm and watched the thin distortions webbing over his wrist. His hand was covered, the haze stretching past the halfway point toward his elbow.

"If we can identify it, perhaps there is a treatment. This might not be as bad as it looks," Merlin offered, trying to be positive. He knew that he really shouldn't let himself care too much for his future enemy's well-being, but it was getting harder to distance himself. They saw each other on a near-daily basis now after all.

"It is kind of you to try and soften the truth, Emrys. Only those gifted with Clairvoyance can even see it, and we are all but extinct," Mordred disagreed. "I doubt that any treatment for this affliction could remain within our grasp."

Merlin was clearly unhappy with this answer, but he didn't try to deny it. The point, however unwelcome, was valid.

"That is why I stayed. I intend to make the most of what time I have left. Perhaps something good might still come of it," Mordred locked eyes with the Guardian. "If you ever have need of a noble sacrifice. You will know whom to ask."

"I wouldn't."

Mordred's smirk did not quite reach his eyes. "You should," he countered, standing up and making his way down the tower stairs, leaving a conflicted Merlin in his wake.

* * *

 **Four Days Later**

Mordred sat still as a statue with his back straight against the cold stone wall of his dank prison cell with his hands folded neatly in his lap and his eyes shut. He looked almost serene as he listened to the water dripping down from the ceiling above. The rain had stopped recently, but his patient meditation had not. The sky outside was black and blue, in spite of the fact that it must be dawn by now. The only light in the cell was leaking in from a torch just out of view in the hall where it provided illumination for the prison guards to gamble by.

One of said guards led a richly dressed man, in a black velvet cloak, with his white hair neatly combed back from his face to stand on the other side of the bars.

"Here he is, Milord. Don't know what good it'll do. He hasn't twitched a muscle since I started my watch," the Guard forewarned.

"I shall make do," the Lord's rich, imposing voice dismissed. He studied his prisoner through the bars until the guard had returned to his seat. "Sir Mordred, the Loyal. A fitting title, is it not? Like the punchline to a bad joke."

Mordred opened his eyes to gaze upon his once prospective employer. "Lord Rhidian. Do you do this to everyone who refuses you, or should I consider myself special?"

"You are in here because you do not know how to live as a decent man. You face charges of murder, theft, assault of a nobleman, immoral comportment in a public place," Lord Rhidian narrowed his eyes at the smile that last charge brought to the teen's blood-smeared lips, then continued. "And well you know your own sordid history."

"I seem to remember my past quite differently than you do, Milord. But then I suppose it is my word against yours."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading. Special thanks to _Agana of the Night_ and _catherine10_ for their reviews. I hope you guys liked this in spite of the format. As always, I love to hear what you guys think of this.


	19. Silence

**Chapter 3: Silence**

The dark clouds over Camelot had not shifted over the course of the previous night, nor had the rain deigned to fall as it ought to. Mordred blamed this on Emrys' deeply troubled mood, but didn't dare voice the thought, aloud or otherwise. He couldn't help but wonder what had caused the older man's opinion of him finally to change; it wasn't anything he was willing to test. Mordred shrugged off the distraction, turning away from the secretly powerful manservant at the edge of the training field and back into the drills that he was meant to be doing.

"All right," Arthur said, stepping up behind his left shoulder. "That's enough for now."

Mordred obediently ended his practice and turned to face the King.

"I don't believe I've ever tested your skills at hand-to-hand combat," Arthur considered.

"I would prefer not to, Sire," Mordred admitted cryptically. The last thing he needed was to jog Sir Elyan or Sir Leon's memory about their meeting years ago. Not to mention the decidedly Druidic aspect to his technique that some of the older Knights might notice.

Arthur chuckled. "You're a knight now, Sir Mordred. Such things tend to come with the job." He gave the teen a pat on the back in encouragement.

"I would rather not fight you at all, Sire. Practicing with training weapons is one thing, but I fear that raising my hand against you..."

"Afraid to punch the King?" Arthur teased, but turned to call Sir Percival over in the next breath, regardless.

"I don't think that I…" Mordred trailed off doubtfully as the other knight approached.

"Relax. You'll be fine. Percy's a gentle giant. He's great with kids," Arthur reassured before walking over to stand at the edge with Merlin and observe them. Mordred noticed Sir Gwaine and Sir Elyan pausing to watch them, too, from their end of the field. _Terrific._

"Whenever you're ready," Arthur prompted, mostly to his nervous-looking nephew. The young Druid sent an uncertain glance Emrys' way.

" _Don't look at me,"_ Merlin responded mentally, with just a hint of amusement.

Mordred turned his attention back to Sir Percival and gave a clipped nod, vanishing the nonconstructive apprehension. This was going to happen no matter what he thought of it. He might as well play along.

After an extended pause while the two knights summed each other up, Percival seemed to notice that Mordred wasn't willing to strike first and aimed a warning punch to the smaller man's side. Mordred dodged it without effort and began to circle to the right, countering with a swift jab of his bundled fingers to the giant's lower ribs.

Percival flinched slightly at the momentary sting of Mordred's strike and shot him a cautioning look. Then he tried and failed to land another punch, instead earning another painful jab to a pressure point on his arm that caused his hand to tingle ominously. His expression sharpened into a wary, lingering stare. Percival had figured out the function behind the Druid's counterattack and was quick to avoid the boy's reach from that point on. Still, Mordred already had forced him to rely on his non-dominant arm. A fact which amused the young Druid in spite of his friend's obvious disapproval. He'd learned to fight the way he did for a good reason, and no passing judgment was going to change that.

Percival stopped holding back and began to move with surprising speed for a man of his size, finally landing a couple of punches to Mordred's chest. Mordred easily dodged the next attack but he was winded. He barely managed to avoid his opponent's attempt to scoop him off his feet, catching Percival's wrist and kneeing him in the stomach. Percival reflexively shoved him away. Mordred made sure to stumble a lot while maintaining his balance (He flashes a flat look, and breathes out "Enough of this.") Percy caught his forearm, moving to yank the novice forward into a pin. However, Mordred followed the momentum to swing under his opponent's arm as if it were a tree branch, using his bent knee and shoulder as footholds, and hopping over Percival to twist his arm behind his back. Mordred scowled, at his own behavior. He'd been trying not to look too competent, and it had taken a magician's precision to avoid breaking Percy's wrist with the maneuver. Impatience had gotten the better of him.

Sir Percival dropped to his knees with a pained grunt. Mordred was just about to suggest that he should yield, but had to release his hold in order to jump Percy's attempt to kick his feet out from under him. He blocked the first punch, but he really seemed to have aggravated his muscled friend because the next open-handed strike to Mordred's chin knocked him onto his back. _That's that problem solved,_ Mordred reflected internally. The blow hurt enough that he didn't even consider the possibility of resisting Percy's pin.

"Ow…" he remarked aloud.

"Sorry. Have I struck you too hard?" Percival inquired, looking a tad repentant about Mordred's dazed countenance. Mordred took a moment to recover his wits while the blond helped him to his feet.

"I can't feel my face," he concluded, moving his jaw experimentally.

"I'm sorry," This time Percival sounded legitimately repentant. The King strolled over to join them.

"Very impressive," Arthur approved.

Percival shifted his numb right arm uncomfortably, prompting a questioning look from the royal that only deepened when Merlin circled round to compress a pressure point on the blond knight's shoulder.

"Better?" The young physician verified, and shook his head at Mordred who plastered on a face of angelic innocence in response.

"Yeah. Thanks, Merlin," Percival confirmed, arching his brows at the silent exchange.

Arthur shook off his unspoken question and continued, "I don't think I've seen anything quite like that before, Sir Mordred. Certainly not that last maneuver you used."

"I have," a gruff, older man's voice muttered from somewhere behind Mordred. The Druid's shoulders tensed. He did not turn around even when the man added a less intelligible remark about "Tree climbers in the Purge."

"What was that?" Arthur questioned, glancing over his nephew's shoulder.

"Hmm?" Mordred bluffed.

"Well, it looks like we're off to a good start," Percival interjected, preventing any further chance of pursuing the damning statement. "Sir Mordred's approach is a bit hesitant, but practice will sort that out in no time."

The novice in question smiled appreciatively in response, both to the approval and to the protection that Percy had just allowed him. Mordred had been certain since Arthur first walked up to him that he was going to be exposed as a Druid, or ex-thief, or both. His relief was short-lived however as an inhuman presence drew the Clairvoyant's attention away from the conversation at hand. The fae was lingering somewhere close by. Behind Mordred the warm glow of Emrys' magic pulsed and fanned out delicately around them, brushing whisper-soft over Mordred's aura as the Guardian sought out the threat. For once the older Mage's presence was comforting enough that he simply forgot about the danger, letting his mind return to the more mundane reality of practice without a second thought.

* * *

Sir Gwaine and Sir Patrick were heading back into the village after a short ride through the woods when they saw a column of black smoke beginning to rise in earnest from one of the cozy, pleasant huts up ahead. Patrick hopped off his horse and ran ahead to join the crowd of locals already fighting to counteract the spreading flames. Gwaine started to follow suit, but stopped upon recognizing the wanted criminal strolling casually away.

"Walker!" he accused, turning to face the slyly grinning murderer.

"I appear to have kicked an ant hill."

"You're under arrest!" By the time the words were out of Sir Gwaine's mouth, the cackling criminal was already making his escape through the crowded street. "Damn." The Knight did his best to make chase, but the disappearing mercenary had once again vanished.

* * *

"He's making wonderful progress - wouldn't you say Merlin?" Arthur stated proudly as they made their way back inside, headed for the royal chambers, not really giving him an opening to reply before he continued to gush, "that last maneuver he used...I've never seen anything like it."

"You've said," Merlin responded quietly, trudging up the steps behind him. Arthur turned to shoot him an appraising look.

"And what do you think of Sir Mordred? You don't see the same potential I suppose..."

"I didn't say that," Merlin said carefully.

"No, but you've got that look, like someone's trodden on your tail," Arthur quipped, fighting the urge to roll his eyes when Merlin actually glanced behind himself. "So what is it?"

"Honestly? I think you're pushing him too hard."

Arthur's face scrunched up incredulously. "What?"

"You haven't even begun to tell Mordred what's really going on, but you're already grooming him for a seat on the throne of Camelot."

"It's where he belongs," Arthur countered almost as if on reflex.

"You're the one who asked my opinion, Arthur. Why are we stopping? Arthur?"

Merlin frowned up at his best friend's back. He was perched at the top of the stairs, turning to the large ceiling-high window on his left.

"Is that smoke?"

Merlin followed the King's line of sight. "That's a lot of smoke." He looked the black column over thoughtfully with magically-enhanced vision. "Looks like a house fire- Wait, Arthur!" He chased his impulsive friend back down the stairs, almost losing sight of him around the next corner. "Where are you going?"

* * *

Sir Percival and Sir Mordred paused together beside a stand selling various seasonal fruits. The younger man picked out a juicy-looking plum. Percival grabbed one too, along with a mixed bag of colorful berries, waving the teen off when he went to pay.

"I've got this. Go on ahead," he directed. "They like you better anyway."

"Thank you," Mordred said with a knowing smile. Nuala had taken to playfully teasing the mild-mannered knight as much as she could get away with. Considering Percy's obliging tendencies, it was a lot. The blond made a shooing motion with his hands, almost completely hiding his apprehension about facing the old bat yet again.

They'd come to check whether the thief who'd broken into the Goldsmith's home a few weeks back matched Walker's description. Mordred jogged up to the now-familiar and welcoming front step of the Goldsmith's house. He visited so often these days that both Nuala and her son found it unnecessary for him to knock anymore. Yet the Druid's upbringing had ingrained in him the importance of respecting the Elders, and he simply could not stop now. Especially after that visit of the night before last.

Mordred stopped with his hand already poised to knock. The door was cracked and scratched up as if it had been bashed in by a formidable force. The once vividly-painted surface was blistered and coated in ash, the top of the frame scattered with cobwebs.

"This is the place, isn't it?" Percy verified, sounding understandably confused. Mordred spared a fleeting glance over his shoulder before nudging the aged portal open. The door drifted inward with a drawn out creak that matched the dilapidated appearance of the building's interior. Everything was just as it had been the last time that Mordred had visited mere days ago ... except for the fact that it was all spontaneously breaking down.

"This is it," he confirmed, stepping cautiously into the surreal ruin. Sir Percival caught his shoulder, stopping him at the beginning of the hallway.

"Mordred," he cautioned, drawing his sword. "There's sorcery at work here."

"I'm not so certain of that," the Clairvoyant replied. Despite the bustling crowd in the marketplace outside, there were no sounds of life to be heard apart from their own voices. Mordred could feel an impression in the air left by an inhuman presence.

"What would you call it then?" Percy challenged.

Mordred walked over and pushed a fading wall hanging away from the panel that had once held the bronze Quaternary Knot. The protective emblem was predictably absent, replaced by a dark sigil made of linked Ogham symbols burnt into the wood.

"A fox hunt," Mordred sarcastically referenced Camelot's old wartime vernacular without bothering to mask his bitterness. This was an echo of one of the more nightmare-inducing stories passed on to him as a child.

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to wish you meant the kind with actual foxes?" Percival wondered aloud. Mordred strode stiffly past him out of the building. "Wait. That's your language, isn't it?" He called after his retreating companion.

Mordred nodded once the other man had caught up to him, keeping his tense gaze on the busy market straight head of them.

"What does it say?"

"Run or die."

* * *

"You're certain that's what it was?" Arthur verified, not wanting to accept the reality of such persecution still lingering in the heart of his kingdom. They were debriefing in the throne room along with Sir Patrick, and Sir Gwaine who'd just dealt with a very suspicious house fire in the lower town.

"Without a doubt, Sire," Mordred confirmed calmly, ignoring Gwen's sympathetic expression, and Emrys' piercing stare.

"So what exactly do you mean by 'fox hunt?" Sir Patrick asked.

"At the height of the Great Purge, some of the more enterprising Lords took to hiring mercenaries and trackers to hunt down and kill Druids living within the boundaries of their lands," Arthur explained. "Symbols such as the one Sir Mordred found were left behind in abandoned camps to warn other Druids away from the disputed territory. "

"I didn't know the Goldsmith was a Druid," Patrick thought aloud.

"Me neither," Sir Gwaine concurred absently, looking at Sir Percival who just shrugged. "Does it matter? I mean I'm fairly sure that we know that Walker is the one doing the hunting."

"Well yes, if they were being targeted for it. How did Walker know who they were?" Gwen considered.

Mordred finally met Emrys' gaze with glistening eyes, his lightening quick thought process dancing over his features.

"That house fire. Was it that short little brown one with the lopsided top?"

Gwaine squinted curiously at the boy. "Yeah." He followed Mordred's gaze to Merlin and back, noticing their silent communion.

"Five doors down from the shoemaker," Mordred stated. That was where he'd acquired the now stolen statuette.

"Sir Mordred?" Arthur questioned.

"It's me."

"It's you?"

"Yes," Mordred said tensely, turning to face the King. "He must have followed me. That family is not of druid blood, but the father sells Druid heirlooms under the table. I bought a carving from him not long before my quarters were broken into."

"You never mentioned it," Arthur responded sternly.

"No, Sire. I should have," Mordred cast his eyes uncomfortably over Sir Gwaine and Sir Patrick before he continued. "But I did not want to draw attention to my origin. "

* * *

3 Days Later

They mostly kept Mordred blindfolded after the visit from Lord Rhidian. Mordred couldn't be certain how long it had been, but he was still surrounded by the familiar Gestalt consciousness of Camelot's core populace, a fact which both soothed and worried him. They were still too close to people whose lives Mordred valued particularly highly. He couldn't allow Gwen or Arthur - not to mention Emrys- to come under threat by these foes again.

Two sell-swords, one of whom he remembered from his meeting with a certain power-hungry Lord, came to interrogate him. The unfamiliar one was chosen based on his embellished skills as an interrogator. _Why thank you, Gentlemen_ , Mordred thought to himself after gently searching through their minds every time they touched him. _Now I know precisely what you're up to._ Arthur and the knights were already doing all that they could to free him from their guest's 'wrongful imprisonment'.

"He hasn't spoken in more than a day, Mate. It just ain't goin' ta happen, " the more familiar of the two remarked in an accent that reminded Mordred of Sir Gwaine. "Come on. It's been a while an' I'm hungry."

Mordred's captors had claimed to have taken him as punishment for a long list of crimes that he had committed before his induction into Camelot's court. ("To be entirely honest- which I feel I can be with you after all that we've been through together- I did commit a few of those crimes, and by a few I mean several. I am not going to try to moralize my behavior by saying that I had no choice, nor that I only did what I had to do to survive." Mordred's interrogator lands a punch to the side of his head. Mordred spits out a little blood and shakes it off, amending, "That may have been a factor. I also enjoyed myself." Another punch and the blindfold loosens and comes off.)

Mordred let out a descending whistle to underscore the fabric's fall, followed by a haggard cough. In truth only a fraction of today's torture session had really occurred outside of these men's heads. The young Clairvoyant felt entitled to be at least a little smug about that.

The more familiar thug had turned his back before the cloth had hit the ground but the torturer was unfazed, responding, "I'll bust that smart mouth of yours," with a rather idiotic rendition of a threatening grin.

"Yes. You are bound to do so before I say anything of interest to you," Mordred broke his silence with a conversational tone gracing his rough voice. He captured the dark, beady eyes of his failed tormentor with his own unfaltering gaze. "Go on then, break me. You want to **try to crack my skull** , but you can't **and** we both know it. You'll **break your own hand** before you break me."

The next strike overturned Mordred's chair, accompanied by a loud crack and a grunt of pain from the torturer.

"Told you," Mordred slurred from his place on the floor, before digressing in a quieter voice. "Fuck, I can't see. You punched my sight away and I can't see… I've gone blind!"

The uninjured thug bent down and tried to fake him out by poking a knife blade dangerously close to Mordred's staring eyes. No reaction.

"Uh oh. I think 'e really is!" He straightened and Mordred heard him walk towards the still pacing Thug. "You're the one who's breaking this to our Lord."

"He'll kill-"

"You; the hostage-blinding twat. I can't believe you broke your hand!" The thug's laugh was interrupted by a loud slap.

Mordred rolled his sightless eyes, feeling that both these men were beneath him.

It didn't take long at all for his stunt to pay off with the creaking of his prison door opening to allow in a familiar bundle of warm magic and ever-present anxiety.

"You've lost your vision, Sir Mordred?" Merlin asked with obvious concern, moving to sit in front of the blind teen. Mordred straightened from his reclining seat against the wall and tucked his legs under him so they could face each other fully.

"No, but I cannot see a thing," he quipped in a raspy voice that caused Merlin to wonder how long it'd been since his last sip of water.

"Don't joke. This could be very serious," Merlin chastened, cupping Mordred's jaw between his palms so that he could examine Mordred's head wound.

" **Relax, Emrys. I've done it to myself; the effect should wear off in a few hours' time. I needed an excuse to speak with you in person."**

"Don't do things like that, Mordred!" Merlin replied a tad too loudly. "You scared me!"

"Thank you. I wasn't sure whether or not you'd still care."

"Of course I care!" Emrys replied, at a more controlled volume. "Gwen is beside herself with worry, Arthur is furious..."

"Ah, that's why you were scared."

Merlin cleaned the gash on Mordred's hairline with more aggression than was strictly called for.

"Ow! Don't press so hard! I'm blind and helpless!"

"You are a manipulative brat." There was a beat of oddly comfortable silence between them. "So, what do you need to talk about?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay so, this one is still way shorter than I would prefer, but hey, at least we've got our boys working together for once. That's probably worth something, right? With any luck I'll be able to get the next one flowing a lot faster and give it a proper length. Not sure why this was a hard one... Anyway, thanks for reading, Special thanks to _Agana of the Night_ for the encouraging review last chapter. As always, hearing from my dear readers really does help me out.


	20. Blackness

**Chapter 4: Blackness**

"You are dismissed," Arthur closed the meeting, still deep in his own ponderings. "Not you, Sir Mordred," he stopped the youngest knight just as he was turning towards the doors. Mordred shut his eyes briefly, gathering his resolve for the no doubt trying confrontation ahead. By the time he turned back to face the King and Queen he was once again the picture of collected calm. He locked eyes with Emrys, remaining still as a statue until the doors had shut behind the last of his retreating brothers-in-arms. Only once they were fully shut did he lower his gaze to the King's face.

"Your Majesty," the Druid prompted politely.

"You weren't surprised, were you," Arthur said solemnly, catching Mordred somewhat off-guard. He had not anticipated being confronted with this insight from the King, which was unusual.

"I am not sure that I understand your meaning, Sire," he tried.

"I am aware of the rumors that have begun to circulate through town since our return," Arthur began, pausing to choose his next words carefully.

"Since my arrival?" Mordred clarified, noticing and purposefully overlooking Arthur's dissatisfaction. "It seems that there are many within Camelot who disapprove of my presence in your court. I have wondered how word got out that I was a Druid, considering the discrete few I know to be aware of it."

"You don't even trust the other Knights not to judge you?" Arthur half inquired, half accused.

"Even good men have their faults. I do not expect them to be any more or less than they are. Many of Camelot's Knights hail from lands in which my people were banished, hunted, and villainized. Those things tend to leave their mark on a mind. I know that you and Queen Guinevere accept me as I am; I trust in you."

"You were expecting persecution," Gwen inferred, hoping to be corrected.

"Perhaps not in so dramatic a fashion, but as his Majesty has noted, I was not surprised. I suspect that Walker is playing on public unrest in hopes that it will incite a conflict between two local factions," Mordred theorized. Arthur nodded, eyeing him with a hint of pride in his eyes that Mordred wasn't entirely sure he had earned. He was a knight, not a politician.

"I am removing you from patrol for the time being," the King pronounced, throwing the novice for another loop and making him question his perception of approval. "When you aren't training you will assist in the command of guards within the citadel." Arthur held up a hand to silence Mordred's oncoming objection. "This is not a punishment, Sir Mordred. I agree, it seems that Walker is inciting a conflict between the Druids within Camelot and those still clinging to old prejudices, and you are the center of his focus. I cannot in good conscience expect you to risk your life in defense of those who hate you, especially given that they may intend to do you harm when the chance arises."

"I did not swear my oath to the small-minded dissenter in the street; I pledged my loyalty to you," Mordred countered smoothly, not quite masking the tension running through him as he looked from Arthur's face to Gwen's and back again. "I would gladly risk my life in service of the Crown."

"You can serve us within the citadel," Gwen responded gently, easily slipping back into her familiar role as a peacekeeper. "You know Walker better than any member of the Guard, and if Walker intends to breach the citadel again you will be better suited than anyone else to stop him."

"This man is doing the work of an enemy lord who wishes to claim my throne. He intends to provoke us, Sir Mordred," Arthur stated, sounding as if they were sitting around the table again, poring over an old text from the great library. "This ploy of his is meant to turn our people against each other. If you were in my position, how might you respond?"

Mordred studied his teacher for a moment, pausing to consider the different approaches that he would use to solve the problem, and gauge what answer would best please his King. He then replied in a thoughtful tone, "I would focus on defusing conflicts within the town, neither tolerating nor legitimizing dissent with a direct acknowledgement. The people's safety should be the focus. Apart from that, I would remain silent and observe while he makes his next move, keeping those I trust close..." He looked up to meet Arthur's wryly amused expression.

"Not a bad start, Mordred. You're learning quickly, as usual."

* * *

It was a little more than an hour later that Mordred got Merlin's view on the matter, regardless of whether he wanted it or not. He had just changed out of his armor and pulled a thin linen tunic on to hang loosely over his breaches and kicked off his boots when he heard the impatient single strike of knuckles to his chamber door.

"Good evening, Emrys," Mordred breathed out resignedly and flopped down to lie on his back across the foot of his bed as the warlock let himself in. Merlin stepped forward to stand over him, about to start in on a tirade or accusation in the next breath if his posture was anything to judge by. Mordred spoke again anyway, still keeping his vision directed primarily to the ceiling. "You know, you are the first person I've met who can manage to make their actions seem so vocal."

Merlin paused with his mouth open, ready to lay into the younger mage, then closed it instead and waited. He was curious to see where Mordred was going with this.

"Your knock, for instance," Mordred continued. "I can't help but wonder whether you've managed to make it actually sound obligatory on purpose, or if your feelings about certain things just sort of leak out into being..." Mordred did a vague and otherwise perplexing gesture with his hands that Merlin interpreted solely based on context.

"Strangeness isn't going to get you out of this talk, Sir Mordred. You lied to King Arthur."

"Even the King knocks when he visits -not that he often does- while you act almost as if the very concept itself is an irritant."

"We have a duty to keep Camelot safe. Aside from that, Walker - or whatever is inside him - came after you first. This isn't a real fox hunt, and we both know it," Merlin pursued, refusing to be diverted by the young man's obvious tactic.

"You expect me to knock on your door," Mordred continued, prompting Merlin to let out a loud, annoyed huff, and turned to look up at his displeased guest. "Does it really bother you that much that I lied about a hypothetical question?"

"I'm not so sure that it was entirely hypothetical," Merlin replied grimly.

"I am not a King, Emrys."

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest, somehow managing to look simultaneously like a disappointed parent, and reprimanded child.

"Is something else troubling you?" Mordred ventured, uncertain of what hidden truth he had glimpsed, but certain that it was there.

Merlin's expression went flat. "Nothing you need to know about, Sir Mordred. I can't keep trusting you if you won't let me know what you're thinking."

"If I can manage for you, surely you can do the same," Mordred replied, standing to face his mentor.

"Don't test me, Mordred. We are not nearly that close yet," Merlin instantly rebuked, his voice threatening to become a hiss.

("Ah," Mordred gives a conspiratorial glance. "There he is. I've often suspected that Emrys' humble, clumsy nature is nought but a shroud to cloak his formidable ego. Denial is a powerful motivator for men such as him, but all that one must do is find the right sore spots to poke at, and that thin veil will slip off as a snake molts old skin. I'm almost tempted to keep it up at times like this, but where this serpent is concerned, I believe that the veil is all that keeps us clear of the dragon's den.") To the Warlock himself, Mordred stated carefully, "The King asked me how I would respond to the threat posed, if I were he. I answered that hypothetical by relating vaguely what he would do. That is not a lie, that is me answering the question more literally than he intended. If I were King Arthur, I would do as King Arthur does."

"He is trying to teach you something," Merlin chastened.

"Am I not learning, Emrys?" Mordred countered, turning back to face his bemused mentor as he walked over to pour himself a drink.

"If you were King Mordred in this situation, how would you respond to the threat posed by Walker?" Merlin reiterated, making it sound almost as compulsory as his knock had earlier. His ego was apparently straining to assert itself.

"We both know this isn't about securing King Arthur's throne," Mordred pointed out, inadvertently mirroring Merlin's stance when he crossed his arms in subconscious defense. "There is a Fae wearing Walker's skin. For whatever reason, she is the one attempting to sow unrest between the Druid people and the larger population within Camelot. She is the one who left that mark, started a fire in the lower town, and who broke into this room that night. She also accessed only my memories of you that night. If the decision were up to me, I would seek her out alone and attempt to find my own answers before she comes after her true target."

"You're not my keeper, Mordred." Merlin noticed their similar positions and dropped his arms to his sides with a self-conscious air. "You will listen to the King's order, and remain within the citadel until I have dealt with this threat."

"And if I do not?"

Merlin's eye flashed with a fierce, golden flame. "You will do as I say."

Mordred smirked at him. "And there's the real reason Great Lord Emrys doesn't knock. You fancy yourself to be our keeper. After all, who knocks on the door every time they feed the dogs?"

Merlin blinked in surprise and straightened, perturbed by the no-longer-familiar coolness in the younger mage's ghostly stare. "I- I don't think- No, you misunderstood- just stop making this difficult," Merlin floundered, talking while he attempted to process what was going on. It was of course a mistake. Unfortunately, he only registered that after he'd already said it.

"I'm the dog," Mordred observed. Something about the calm, placid quality of the ex-slave's voice made his words all the more condemning.

"Wait. Listen-" Merlin tried.

Mordred's expression shuttered closed and he hissed, "Get out of my chamber!" sharply enough that the powerful warlock before him immediately relented. Merlin turned back, wincing guiltily as the door shut itself and locked without either man consciously intending it, although both assumed it was probably the furious Druid's doing.

Merlin stared at the door for a moment, feeling absolutely terrible, before trudging dejectedly back towards the Physicians' Chambers. He knew he wasn't likely to regain Mordred's willing attention until he'd had time to cool off no matter how entirely unintentional his condescension had been.

* * *

The next morning, Sir Elyan and Sir Patrick stepped cautiously into the burnt out husk of the peddler's cottage. The building's remains were already blackened and brittle, leaving a surreal impermanence to everything within the knights' reach.

"I'm not sure what exactly we're here for. This whole place is a ruin," Sir Elyan confessed, pulling open a charred kitchen cabinet only to watch it crumble.

Sir Patrick watched the soot-coated dishes inside fall through their dilapidated shelf. He half shrugged to the Queen's sibling in solidarity.

"The King suggested that this may have to do with Sir Mordred's people, but we must still find the evidence to prove it."

"I've heard about the threat to local Druids," Elyan clarified, put off somewhat by the other man's choice of words. Sir Patrick had almost made it sound as if this were somehow the Druids' own fault.

"Nevertheless, it is difficult not to question how there could be much of use left behind," Patrick remarked, stepping over the remains of a chair in order to inspect the tiny front window. It had been smashed in during or rather, just before the blaze. "Wait a moment!"

"Have you found something?" Elan made his way over to the novice's side.

"I think… maybe… here, what do you make of this?" Patrick held up the tattered and singed rag for his comrade's inspection. "This must've gotten caught on the edge of the sill." It was a torn off piece of linen. The stormy blue fabric marred by the shape of black-stained fingers. Elyan rubbed at one of the dark stains with his fingertip and sniffed it.

"Some kind of tar… maybe, pitch?" he considered.

"Well, it could lead us to our hunter. Lucky, that it didn't burn up," Sir Patrick observed, carefree. Sir Elyan eyed the new evidence suspiciously while the younger man wandered away to poke at what remained of the table settings.

"Yes. Very lucky."

* * *

Sir Patrick decided to take the initiative himself that afternoon while Elyan was still down in the armory. He presented the small amount of evidence they had gathered to the King, informing him 'regretfully' that he had matched the torn fabric to one of Sir Mordred's tunics.

Sir Gwaine became more and more visibly angered by the interruption, not moving from where he and Percival stood diagonally in front of the throne. Sir Percival, much like the King himself had gone into a deeply contemplative silence, appraising the novice.

"You realize the severity of these allegations," King Arthur verified, keeping his tone admirably level.

"I do, Sire. I also know how dear Sir Mordred is to you," Sir Patrick replied, causing Arthur to sit up straighter on his throne with a more discerning stare. The couriers around them took on an expectant hush.

"Oh, you noticed that, did you?" Sir Gwaine grumbled, turning away from Queen Guinevere to glower challengingly at the younger man.

"I'm sure that Sir Patrick did not mean to insinuate anything," Arthur said, keeping his eyes on Patrick's.

"Of course, your Majesty. Mordred earned his place among the knights when he saved your life. We all owe him respect for that," Sir Patrick elaborated, ignoring Gwaine's continued hostility. "That is why I chose to wait until I had some evidence to justify my suspicions before coming forward."

"Come on," Sir Gwaine sneered. Queen Guinevere held up a hand to silence him.

"I understand your concern, Sir Knight," she said, sounding sincere. "Clearly, it must take a great deal of suspicion to bring you to accuse a brother-in-arms. Especially, seeing as he was granted knighthood so close to the time of your own induction. Any more evidence you have of his actions will be of help to us in settling the matter."

"I don't…" Sir Patrick trailed off, puzzled, then recovered himself. "I don't have any such evidence at this time…"

"I see. Merely grounds for suspicion?" Gwen clarified, as if she didn't already know.

"I… Yes, Ma'am."

"Thank you, Sir Patrick, for bringing this to our attention," King Arthur stated formally. "Sir Mordred's already been taken off of patrol. He will, however, be remaining on duty for the time being. You are not to speak of these suspicions of yours to Sir Mordred or to anyone not currently in this room, and any further evidence regarding him will be brought straight to me or to the Queen, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Good, then you are both dismissed. Your father, Lord Rhidian will be arriving tonight and I want both you and Sir Gwaine at my side when the Queen and I receive him," Arthur concluded.

"Sire." Sir Patrick bowed respectfully and left.

* * *

Merlin and Mordred did not get much chance to talk after their latest disagreement, mainly because Mordred used his innate gifts at maneuvering people to make it so. Apparently, reconciliation with a passive-aggressive clairvoyant was a feat beyond even the most powerful warlock ever to live. Merlin still wasn't sure how the teenager managed to keep disappearing like that without the ability to teleport. He had, however, determined two things for certain. One, Mordred was in no way respecting the implied curfew that Arthur had set for his protection, and two, proving that fact to anyone else would be as endlessly frustrating as caring for the Druid's well-being was proving to be.

Finally, he caught a break just after giving up and joining Sir Gwaine and the knights for a pint. As soon as they entered the tavern, Merlin's magical sense picked up Mordred's presence tucked away in the far corner. He only waited the shortest amount of time he could manage without being rude to his friends before making his way over.

"Excuse me," Merlin muttered and cut through the mass of bustling patrons to intercept the hooded knight's retreat. He rested a hand on Mordred's arm, leaning close to speak quietly into his ear. "This needs to stop. I'm the Guardian here, not you."

"I have no interest in another argument." Mordred pulled out of his grip and moved to continue past. Merlin stepped in front of him.

"I want to trust you," he began, earning a cynical stare from his would-be adversary, "but if that's going to work... We are both in this together, Sir Mordred. I can't rely on you if you refuse to hear me out."

Mordred made a sweeping gesture towards the secluded table against the wall to his right. Merlin sat down across from him, noticing that Mordred seemed unknowingly to take after his uncle when miffed. "I'm listening, Emrys," he intoned with exactly the perfect amount of sarcasm in his soft voice to drive that point home.

"I understand why you're angry at me. I want to make it as clear as I can that I have no interest in any kind of ownership over you, Mordred. I never even considered it. That being said, as long as you live here-especially as a member of Arthur's court- you are my responsibility. The fact is, you have been my responsibility since I first smuggled you into the citadel on the day we met, and I haven't really done you justice ever since." He paused for a moment to see the implications of what he said sink in, and watched gravely as Mordred shifted his attention sharply away then pinned him with look that demanded he move on. "I know that you still think the Fae inside of Walker is targeting me and possibly Arthur, and that it's your chance to prove yourself," Merlin explained urgently. "It isn't, and you shouldn't."

"I suppose that it simply did not occur to you that I might be doing what is right based on its own merits," Mordred replied sarcastically, but there was no real bitterness behind it this time.

Merlin gave him a quelling look. "This is not your fight, and coddling Arthur was never your burden either. Whatever it is you're planning, I am asking you to let it go."

"Whether the Fae targets you or the King, it is unacceptable. I have been looking into this-"

"I know," Merlin affirmed tensely, but Mordred breezed right by his open disapproval.

"If she is using Walker's original plot as a template, I have an opportunity to use it to our advantage," he urged, leaning closer so that his soft voice could be heard clearly.

"If that is what she's doing, which you have no way of knowing until you've already played straight into her hands," Merlin argued. "That's insane!"

"I will be insane, sooner or later! You know that. You never trusted me until you did," Mordred persevered, standing stubbornly against the sudden urge to flinch away. He continued more quietly, placing his hands deliberately and leaning over the table to stare directly into the Guardian's gold-flecked eyes, "If am to survive dependent upon the depth of your pity, Emrys, I would rather take my chances with the Fae." Mordred studied Emrys more closely for another second, his expression inscrutable. "You know something that you aren't telling me."

"What?"

"You have become unusually preoccupied with my wellbeing of late."

Merlin pulled up every one of the mental defenses he'd been reading up on since Mordred's arrival. "W- Ah- After what you told me? Why wouldn't I be worried? That's all it is."

Mordred stood up straighter and wordlessly made his way to the exit.

"Wait! Mor-" Merlin cut himself off and chased Mordred out onto the dimly lit village street, rapidly cooling in the setting sun.

"You are a poor liar, considering your years of experience." Mordred didn't even glance back at the other mage as he turned into the alley. Merlin kept following, ignoring the jab. Halfway down the shadowy passage, Mordred whirled round to accuse his mentor. "You and Morgana are remarkably similar, so concerned for my wellbeing… once you've found a use for me. I suppose you'll give me your commands when it best suits you."

"That isn't fair," Merlin corrected, managing this time around to keep a level head in light of his companion's paranoia. He'd decided to categorize it as a symptom so long as the behavior continued to clash with his understanding of Mordred's typically reserved and understated demeanor.

"My thoughts exactly," Mordred countered using the warlock's own choice of words against him.

"Listen! I have a responsibility!" he exclaimed, catching up to Mordred at the middle of the darkening passageway. "Not only to Arthur, but to you, to Gaius, to everyone in Camelot!"

"Oh, would you stop!" Mordred interjected, his voice still appallingly muted, as he swatted away the argument. "The enemy in our midst has revealed her interest in you, Emrys, if not our King. Your destiny has always been worth much more than the cost of my fleeting life!"

"We all have destinies," Merlin countered seriously, drawing Mordred's narrowed eyes to lock onto his. "Just because no one claims to have written any great fables in your honor does not make your future any less important."

"Why shouldn't this be my destiny? I pledged that I would give my life in service of Camelot. I also promised to aid in ensuring your destiny, now my people are being used as pawns in a bid to entrap you," Mordred intoned, taking a couple steps closer to underline the implied challenge. "Why should I retreat?"

"Because you're sick! Your shields are faltering; I can feel it, and if I can, I'll wager the Fae can too. We don't even know if I'm strong enough to defeat her, and let's be honest, Mordred, I can outmatch ten of you," Merlin left out the 'at present, I think' that his mind helpfully added in contradiction. "Besides, I'm still not convinced that you aren't the true target! You wanted to earn my trust - congratulations! You are well on your way! Now, if you want to help me, do as I tell you and stay out of..."

A thump sounded on the darkened end of the alleyway, drawing the magic users' attention. It seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness of the silence that surrounded them. The calm solitude of sunset became isolated and threatening in an instant.

"What was that?" Merlin inquired.

"A sellsword hopping down from his perch," Mordred supplied helpfully.

"And you neglected to mention him until now, why?"

"I am not all-knowing, Emrys," Mordred defended, drawing his sword. "He's got a partner with him…"

Three sword-wielding brutes rushed up behind them and the young knight immediately engaged the closest two in battle.

"And these!" he added. At the same time, Merlin ducked the third enemy's sword and shoved a nearby stack of barrels over to impede the other two men's approach. Merlin was momentarily intrigued by the lightning-quick, deadly dance Mordred was doing to fight two older, experienced fighters at their own art. He'd obviously been holding back during training. Then Merlin was grabbed from behind, engaging in a far more graceless wrestling match with the two larger men who hadn't been knocked out by falling barrels. With a hasty flash of his eyes, Emrys tripped the mercenary that he was facing. The brute stumbled toward Mordred's end of the alley, wide-eyed, and the deadly teen spun in place slitting the man's throat on his way to block the next downward strike from the opponent on his right. The movement was so swift and efficient, it made the death almost seem like an afterthought.

" **He saw you, Emrys. I had little choice."**

The attacker still holding Merlin threw him headfirst into the wall. He tried to push himself up off the ground, but froze at the sound of a blade falling to the cobblestones and a breathy grunt of pain. Merlin hated that he was experienced enough to recognize accurately the sound of a person being stabbed in the side. He'd distracted Mordred. He refused to be the cause of his demise.

Merlin's head snapped up to check on the younger man, and take stock. The mercenary who'd thrown Merlin into the wall pressed a dagger to his throat.

"Go on," his compatriot encouraged. "We don't need that one."

"No." Mordred forced himself upright, staring down the thug. The stab wound was just above his hip, and shallow, judging by his range of movement. Not immediately life-threatening.

The mercenary holding a blood tipped sword scoffed.

"No, leave him. Take me. I will go willingly so long as he is harmed no further."

"You what?!"

"If you kill him you'll have to kill me, because I will kill you, painfully and without a semblance of mercy." Mordred continued, ignoring Merlin's irate squawk.

"Leaving a witness would be unprofessional," the sell-sword noted, uncertain.

"You know me. I keep my word." Mordred's eyes had gone cold and ghostly again. There was no longer any illusion of innocence. The mercenaries exchanged dark looks over their victims' heads.

"Mordred-" The dagger-wielding thug knocked Merlin out before he could finish his sentence.

* * *

 **A/N:** And there's the first part of that... If anyone was still curious. Was it anything like you were expecting? Still wondering what the heck Mordred is playing at? I hope so. I know this chapter took waay too long to finish, but it is really important and I wanted to get it right. A lot of plot is either ending or being seeded in this installment, so, yeah, that takes extra time. Oh, well. Special Thanks to _Isis Ma'at, Agana of the Knight,_ and _catherine10_ for the encouraging reviews; I hope that this was worth your wait!


	21. Gone

**Chapter 5: Gone**

A tall, slender man in modest earth-toned clothing with a bag over his head was all but carried through a conspicuously empty hallway of Camelot's palace. The larger of the two knights manhandled their captive through a heavy, wooden door on their left and hauled him into the darkness beyond.

"Sit down," Sir Gwaine sneered, shoving their burden into a straight-backed wooden chair at one end of a simple wooden table. Percy closed the door behind them, then pulled the sack off of Walker's head. The only light in the chamber came from a small candelabra placed at the center of the table. It cast imposing shadows over the features of the King sitting in the darkness across from him.

"Arfur Pendragon," Walker nearly cooed, seeming inappropriately amused. "A' long las' we meet, again."

"You've been carrying out a killing spree on the people of Camelot, and attempting to incite unrest between local Druids and the native populace. It would seem that you were hired to encourage a very particular form of upheaval," Arthur stated grimly, surveying the mercenary with obvious distaste.

"Yezzuh woz," Walker confirmed, as if he weren't confessing to high treason in any sense. "Boida same Lord wot hoired me da end ya whoile back."

"I want his name."

Walker slouched against the back of his chair with a patronizing chuckle. "No. Ya a'ready 'ave it. You ain't dat slow. No you're lookin' fa proof, or be'er yet a contradiction. I go' da knowledge sure, but you're really lookin' for an easy way out. That ain't sumfin' I'll give ya."

"You are in no position to be evasive," Arthur reminded the convict. Walker's menacing grin was a clearer contradiction than any spoken words. "What gives you such confidence in light of the multiple death sentences held to your name?"

"Same thing dat's got ya in this pretty pickle," Walker almost purred, his grin seeming to sharpen with every word. "Royal blood." The knights standing in wait on either side of his back exchanged a look, and Percy let out a disbelieving scoff. Walker continued undaunted, mimicking Arthur's earlier statement, "Or rather you brung me down here, King Arfur, 'cause you're concerned wif da blood of one very particular royal."

Arthur's jaw clenched and he sat forward to lean against the table between them in silent anger.

"I know. Wha' a scandal!" Walker confirmed smugly, lounging back in his seat as if he owned the place. He ran his eyes appreciatively over Percival. "They don't know, do they?" He chuckled.

Sir Gwaine shoved him forward so that the front legs of his chair returned to Earth with a loud clack.

"Sire?" Sir Percival queried.

"No," King Arthur replied to Walker's question, stone-faced. "You said that you had information. You had better hope that it's indispensable enough to earn you your head."

"Ah, so ya do take after your father," the merc observed.

"Speak, now," the King warned with the hint of a growl slipping into his voice.

"Lord Rhideon is still a step behind ya, but only jus'. He knows 'bout your secret li'l Prince, but he don't know 'is name yet. 'e don't know dat he's a'ready got 'im." Walker explained. "You can rescue…" he flicked a wry glance over the knights flanking his seat. "The young LeFay, but it ain't gonna be simple. See until a week ago, I was workin' with Milord's heir, an' he ain't all too wise about the details but well, he ain't alone."

Arthur glanced up to share a look that spoke volumes with Sir Percival. The knight was still reeling from the epiphany regarding Mordred's true status, but was steadied once again upon the confirmation of their suspicions.

* * *

The next morning, Sir Patrick was humming idly to himself as he walked towards the armory when a massive, red and metallic form came seemingly out of nowhere to slam him against the stone wall to his right. He let out a pained groan, reflexively grabbing at the muscular arms holding his throat just a few inches too high up the wall for him to breathe comfortably.

"Sssckh-Ssir Perciv..." Patrick tried, eyes bugging out of his head slightly as he stared up into the glare of his attacker.

"We caught your father's errand boy. We know all about the break-in to Sir Mordred's quarters, how you've been roughing him up when other knights aren't around, and planting evidence for the sake of your father's plots," Percy informed the novice, going from mad to downright furious at the petulant defiance Patrick showed him in response.

It looked as if the youth wanted to spit, but considered the action too far beneath him.

"He is our brother-in-arms!"

"He's a Druid," Sir Patrick snapped, as if that were something inhuman. "Witch's sp-ckk!"

Percival's hands flexed around the younger man's throat, causing him to choke and sputter as Percy dragged him away from the wall. "Sir Patrick, son of Lord Rhideon, you are under arrest for high treason, and conspiracy against the Crown. Don't expect your family to save you from this, either."

It took the younger knight halfway to his cell for the realization to hit him.

"High treason...?" he echoed, trailing into shocked silence.

He didn't get any form of reply until he was being locked away next to Walker's current prison cell.

"Ya didn' really think ya dad'd care 'bout some random druid boy, did ya?" Walker laughed... No. He giggled, a sound that didn't suit him in the slightest. It sounded a little too feminine, almost like music.

* * *

Two hours later, Arthur sat tensely in the throne room with his wife seated beside him and Merlin standing silently at his opposite shoulder. The manservant's disapproval was obvious, at least to the King, but this was the only way. None of them approved.

"Lord Rhideon, your Majesty," the page announced the expected arrival, prompting a muscle to twitch in the King's jaw. He nodded in acknowledgement.

The double doors opened to allow in their 'esteemed guest', and Lord Rhidian strode in confidently along with his own manservant and bodyguard. Both underlings looked sideways at Sir Gwaine and Sir Elyan standing on either side of the portal. One, understandably, masked his alarm much better than the other. Merlin eyed them with contained anger, recognizing the two men as the brutes that he'd seen lingering around Mordred's cell: his torturers. Lord Rhideon surveyed the near-empty court with a discerning eye, not yet sharing the agitation of his followers. He shifted his fleeting glance from the two Round Table members where Guards would normally be stationed, to Sir Leon who stood impassively to the side near the Queen's throne. Sir Percival passing by on the other side of the doorway, shut the doors behind them with a clack that reverberated through the large stone chamber. There was no sound for a moment but his purposeful steps in the corridor.

"King Arthur, this is an honor. It is not often that a man is granted such a private audience with both the King and Queen," Lord Rhideon greeted almost casually.

"It is not often that a long held ally to my family behaves as you have of late, Lord Rhideon," King Arthur replied, his voice just as steady, if not as skillfully controlled.

"I understand and apologize for the upset that my men and I have caused by taking custody of one of your knights in training. Our grounds for the arrest were clearly shared, as you surely recall. You have seen the charges brought lawfully against him, Sire, and I am sure that your men have had ample time to verify them by now. Loyalty is a well-respected trait of such honorable men, but the facts remain."

"They do," King Arthur agreed. "I must say, my knights' findings were quite illuminating."

"Yes, then you have no doubt seen the extent of young Mordred's guilt. From what I understand he is indeed a clever young man, exceptional for an urchin," Rhideon replied, certain of his victory. "It is a shame that such a mind as his has gone to such waste. In any case, I only wish to do my part in meting out justice, for the sake of the Crown."

"We have no doubts regarding your intention," Queen Guinevere put in graciously.

Rhideon's eyes narrowed ever so slightly in reaction the Queen's words, belying how kindly her countenance appeared. There was a light tap on the doors.

Lord Rhideon raised one bushy grey eyebrow as if merely intrigued by his ally's antics, as Percy allowed the castle guards to deliver a shackled Sir Patrick, and a more thoroughly-chained Walker in to kneel in front of Sir Leon to the side of the throne.

"My son," Lord Rhideon acknowledged a tad raspily, taking a step towards them as the guards filed out. His lackey's hands moved to their weapons, but were stopped before they could more than grasp them by the ringing sound of the three knights swiftly drawing their own swords. "What is the meaning of this?"

"That is quite enough," Arthur intoned evenly. "I suggest that you remind your men to remain civil. This is not the time to test my patience. As I said, Lord Rhideon our investigation into your claims has been quite illuminating."

Rhideon eyed the younger man bitterly, but nodded to his men and they reluctantly conceded.

"Patrick?" Lord Rhideon asked roughly, his voice caught somewhere between the concern of a parent and an implied threat.

"Your son has taken an oath in service of Camelot. It would seem that he is more a man of his word than his own Lord and father," Arthur informed the internally seething Lord.

"Whatever the boy has told you, my King..."

"Has been verified by your paid acquaintance," Walker cut in, articulately, sounding faintly amused by his now ex-employer's predicament.

"Oi! Quiet until you're addressed," Sir Gwaine cautioned the prisoner half-heartedly. Gwen shot the knight a look.

"We know that you asked your son to plant evidence at the scene of one of Walker's fires, making it appear that Sir Mordred was present at the time of ignition," King Arthur informed Lord Rhideon. "according to Walker's confirmation. As well as the fact, confirmed by both men, and two separate witnesses, that your son has contacted the wanted criminal, Walker, on palace grounds, multiple times, on your behalf."

"Sire, with respect, these allegations... Our families have been allied for generations. These claims are nothing but mere words! Surely you do not believe a plot of treason on my part could be more likely the truth than the manipulations of a Druid urchin?" Rhideon attempted to dismiss.

"Your own son has made some of those claims, and confirmed others," King Arthur corrected, "What reason would he have to insinuate your guilt?"

"This is absurd!"

Arthur looked past the now furious older man. "I want the Prince collected and brought here at once."

Sir Elyan nodded with a faint smirk and popped his head out to relay the order.

"Prince? What Prince? You rule without an heir," Lord Rhideon wondered aloud, knocked off kilter by the shift in dynamics.

"We live in trying times, and with word of a neighboring Lord bidding to lay claim to this kingdom, and threats of war from the North," King Arthur explained. "I judged it necessary to entrust the knowledge of my successor only to those deemed worthy of my unquestionable trust."

"For a loyal ally, and friend who has just been accused of betraying the royal family you sound oddly preoccupied with the state of succession, my Lord," Queen Guinevere noted wryly. Walker snorted.

"Because those accusations are false and slanderous, your Majesty. It merely struck me as odd that I had not heard an announcement on the matter. Truly, all I have done is lawfully arrest a criminal within your ranks under the intention of punishment for the deeds that Mordred has committed against my people as well as yours. I was well within my right as a Lord under your rule to capture the Druid, and whatever lies he and this wretch-" Rhideon gesticulated toward Walker, "have concocted to muddy the waters is not worth our time to entertain! All there is left for us to determine is how that witch's spawn has entranced my boy into believing in such falsehood!"

Rhideon's rant was punctuated by the double doors behind him opening to reveal Sir Percival chaperoning a blood-stained, dirty, and still shackled Mordred into the room. The scheming Lord stared, at a loss, as Sir Percival supported the 'criminal' in question towards the throne with a careful arm around his shoulders.

"You were not worthy," Arthur intoned with a dangerous stillness as he gently drew his nephew closer with a hand on his wrist. "You went well beyond your rights, and pushed far beyond your bounds." His voice became more and more ominous with each word as he took in the cuts and bruises scattered over Mordred's face and arms, the painful hunch in his posture caused by the wound bleeding through the side of his shirt. "You and your cohorts have attempted to foment a rebellion within my kingdom, conspired against the King with a known assassin and have assaulted, kidnapped and framed a member of the royal family."

Mordred blinked up at the King - his Uncle, apparently - with his mouth slightly agape, looking as if he'd just been struck, while behind him, Rhideon objected.

"That boy is... He can't be the heir! But the Witch Morgana-"

"My. Family." King Arthur spat, so livid that Mordred very visibly flinched at the feel of it rolling past him. "Keys!" The King demanded pinning the three doomed men with his glare. The bodyguard tossed the keyring to Merlin as if releasing a white hot coal. Both hired lackeys looked sick with fear. "Get them out of my sight!" Arthur ordered not looking away from the shackles his servant was currently unlocking.

"S... Sire, I don't understand," Mordred's voice cracked around the words, not entirely due to the utter dryness of his throat. "You said..."

"I never wanted you to find out this way," Arthur stated, trying to rub some of the circulation back into his heir's pallid hands.

Mordred pulled away from his touch, holding his arms up against his chest as if to defend himself from the King's words. "No." He whispered.

Arthur let out a resigned breath, and turned to Merlin. "See these wounds are taken care of," he requested.

Merlin nodded solemnly and led the newly revealed Prince away to be treated in the Physician's chambers. "Come on."

* * *

Mordred did not venture out of the Physicians' chambers until suppertime, and even then he did so very hesitantly. Merlin had given him permission to recuperate in his room for as long as he needed to, while Merlin worked nearby for the rest of the day. He figured it was probably best for everyone involved if he kept a close watch over Mordred until the Clairvoyant's volatile emotions settled. They hadn't yet, although at least the intangible aura of hopelessness and shock was no longer diffusing the air around them. The pulsing headache it had given Merlin was still a lingering reminder of why not to upset Mordred. Also relevant to why he was so wary of the Clotpole's choice to have a family dinner so soon after Mordred's princehood debacle.

"I have decided it is best that I remove myself from the Night's Watch until further notice," Mordred announced, his throat still sounding muted and somewhat raw. "With your permission?"

The King's eyes locked with those of his nephew the very instant that Mordred glanced up from his dinner plate, making Arthur's blatant staring all the more obvious.

He nodded his assent.

"With that matter settled," Mordred shifted his attention back to his roast. "I intend to depart from Camelot at dawn tomorrow."

That snapped Merlin right out of his internal dialogue. _Oh, no. Oh, no Arthur don't be an ass..._

Arthur dropped his goblet onto the tabletop in offense. "You will do no such thing," he denied, just barely containing the urge to snap at the boy.

 _Dammit._

Mordred, in contrast, did nothing to hide the coldness in his expression, nor to keep the accusation from his tone as he responded, "With all due respect, your Majesty, am I your Prince or your prisoner?"

"You are my nephew, and my ward," Arthur corrected.

Gwen quietly placed her utensils down beside her plate, watching the two with growing worry.

"I never asked to be your ward," Mordred's soft voice snapped out the words with the swiftness of a stinging whip.

"I never asked to be your Uncle." Arthur's reflexive retort made Merlin flinch and left the table smothered by a heavy silence. Mordred bitterly averted his gaze to his empty goblet which he held out for Merlin to refill.

" _Just don't throw this at the Prat, as tempting as it is. Don't_ _actually_ _drench the King,"_ Emrys thought at the Prince, as if also reminding himself of this. It was precisely what Mordred needed to keep himself sane.

Arthur drew in a deep, weary-sounding breath and elaborated, "I'll not have you wandering off alone in your present state. No matter how much you may hate me, Mordred, our enemies are just waiting for a chance like this. You might as well ask me to deliver you straight to their doorstep."

"I am not 'wandering' anywhere, Sire. I am fleeing…" Mordred took note of the warning look the Queen was giving him, but continued regardless, "From you."

Gwen let out an aggrieved breath, and dropped her face into her hand. Then regrouped, turning towards him slightly, to plead for decorum. "Mordred, please-"

"Do you _want_ me to lock you up?" Arthur reflected sarcastically.

 _Ass,_ Merlin thought rather loudly.

"Arthur!" Gwen scolded, looking utterly appalled by her husband's behavior. Mordred jumped up without another word and stormed out of the dining room. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut in silent self-recrimination, then started to get up, but Gwen caught his wrist before he could stand.

"Don't. That'll only make things worse."

* * *

Mordred charged into his chambers, slamming the door shut behind him with the strength of his whole body. He knew, intellectually, that he really needed to calm down before mirrors started breaking. In a rare moment of teenage rebellion and impulse, he went with the larger portion of his brain and hurled his pitcher at the wall instead. Bran let out a brief, unimpressed growl at the human pup's misbehavior.

"Shut up," Mordred hissed.

Bran trotted over to sit meaningfully by the door, and Mordred ignored him to pace back and forth. He passed by the window and smacked the washbasin off its pedestal. Then walked back in the other direction, pausing almost pensively, and began kicking his chair to pieces. The wolf licked his lips and yawned, staring at the door's ringed handle.

There was a knock at the door.

"This is not a good time," Mordred rejected.

"Mordred, you have every right to be upset," Queen Guinevere called imploringly through the wooden barrier. "Please, can we just talk?"

Without a word, Mordred crossed the room and opened the door for her before returning to his pacing.

"Thank you," Gwen acknowledged, eyeing the controlled destruction the Prince had wrought and following the wolf's exit with an uneasy eye. "I know how horrible we must look to you now. Arthur isn't doing himself any favors at the moment... but he truly is trying to do right by you. You are his family. The only family that he really has left. As hard as it is to see right now, he was and is trying his best to protect you."

"I envy you your charitable outlook," Mordred said in a tone of insincere politeness. Gwen frowned, watching him prowl back and forth as she tried to figure out the right words to get through her nephew's betrayed temper.

"I know my husband; he cares a great deal about you. I believe that he kept the truth from you, in part because he did not wish for you to have to bear the burden of princehood any sooner than necessity demanded. When he was your age, being heir to the throne weighed heavily on his shoulders. We both want you to be happy."

"So, long as I serve my purpose?" Mordred muttered darkly. "In the end, perhaps, all Pendragons are the same."

"You don't mean that."

"I was a pet for Morgana, my moth-" Mordred shook the jarring idea from his head. "I was a scapegoat for Uther, and now I am a linchpin for Arthur's purposes," he continued, unperturbed; after making such a scene of freeing him they wouldn't immediately condemn him to the stocks. "I have never been safe, or free. If my 'family' has shown me anything, it is that I exist solely for the purpose of being used."

"Mordred, no..." Gwen began with that irritatingly sympathetic countenance, as if she could possibly relate to his plight. She actually looked as if she might cry.

"I stabbed her, you know? My- Morgana, I stabbed her in the back to save King Arthur because I believed in him and his Albion. I should never have followed him into this place. In a way, she is right, people like us cannot live in Camelot."

"You are nothing like your mother," Gwen corrected with utter certainty, venturing a hopeful step closer when Mordred stopped pacing to look at her. "I understand how you must feel-"

"You cannot possibly understand how I feel!" Mordred finally shouted at Gwen for the first time in his life. The glass in the windows behind him vibrated and exploded along with the nearby water jug as the Clairvoyant's roiling emotions finally overwhelmed their abused containment. Gwen was pushed back a step by an intangible force that rushed like a shockwave out of Mordred's core in the instant before he crumpled to the floor on his hands and knees, a marionette cut from its strings.

"I'm sorry!" the boy apologized in a rough, shaky voice. He'd gone paler than a ghost. "I didn't mean to... I'm sorry."

Guinevere stared down at him for a moment with her hands pressed over her gaping mouth.

"I would never hurt you! It just-"

"Oh, you foolish boy," the Queen breathed, crossing the distance between them and crouching down to look him over for cuts. "Of course not! Are you all right? Did any of the pieces hit you?"

"What? I don't know..." Mordred replied, suddenly sounding very small and lost. He hadn't necessarily expected to be dragged back to the dungeons straight away, but he certainly hadn't expected her to worry about his well-being.

"Oh, dear," Gwen reflected sadly. She looped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close as he finally broke down in tears. "Shh, you're safe. Nobody saw. We're both perfectly safe."

* * *

"I must say, your line does show an alarming propensity for throwing things," Gaius remarked, long-sufferingly as he bandaged the cut on the back of Mordred's hand. "I cannot even claim that this is only the second time I have had to treat a young Pendragon cut by his own shrapnel."

"A madness in our blood, I suppose," Mordred drawled, pouting.

"Actually I'd attribute the behavior far more to your Uncle," the aged healer pointed out. "Although, I am thankful that you have refrained from choosing a human target."

Mordred quirked one side of his lips in a fair attempt at his usual smirk.

"Finding that you have a family is not such a bad thing, Sir Mordred, despite the misfortune that brought that truth to light."

"I have no interest in being a Prince, Gaius," Mordred explained. "It is simply too much. I have been alone for a long time. It would fit me ill to have so many others look to me..."

"Perhaps that is fitting then," Gaius considered after a pregnant pause. "It will shield you from Morgana's folly. Further, if and when the King and Queen produce a child, you will not feel your position was stolen by the younger heir."

* * *

Merlin was leaning against the wall by the door, Bran curled alertly at his feet, waiting for Mordred to leave the Physicians' chambers. The sorcerer wordlessly pushed away from the cool stone and followed as the other magic user strode past, the wolf rising and falling in at his side.

"Are you watching over me too now, Emrys? I wouldn't want to become a distraction for you," Mordred said drily. Bran had the grace to lower his head, but kept trotting along.

"I'm just making sure that you don't do something you'll regret," Merlin responded truthfully. He could feel it like an oppressive cloud hanging over them: something horrible was threatening to break like an invisible tempest. Perhaps, they could still manage to let it pass on without harming them if he treaded carefully enough. Mordred slowed his pace so that his mentor could begin to catch up.

"I believe that you care now, Emrys. I'm not sure what it is that has changed, but I did start to think that perhaps we could be friends."

"We can- We are, Mordred," Merlin told him earnestly, and for once he actually believed it could be true. He could trust Mordred.

"Then as my friend, tell me honestly - did you know?" Mordred asked. The stoic mask that he usually wore was down for the moment, leaving him vulnerable. Merlin could see a pleading look in the Druid's eyes that made him hate himself a little.

Merlin's face tightened in a fleeting wince and his gaze dropped to the stone floor between them. _He_ _can't trust_ _me_ _,_ the warlock acknowledged the bitter irony to himself, overcome by a flood of guilt.

"Emrys." Mordred's tone had returned to a more characteristic formality, but there was a tension to it that had not been there before.

"I wanted to tell you."

Mordred let out a scoff and half-turned to leave.

"I'm sorry!" Merlin stepped forward and caught the fleeing Prince's sleeve. "Please, listen Mordred, you don't have to leave like this. You aren't safe; Walker is carrying a Fae, somehow; Morgana is still plotting to take the throne, and they are all coming after you. I can help you, but only if you stay here in Camelot."

Mordred's piercing blue eyes locked with his. **"For that to work I would have to** **trust** **you, Merlin,"** he replied into Merlin's mind, prompting the Warlock to flinch internally at the use of his common name. It sounded so alien and impersonal, coming from the younger mage. "I'm not so sure that I can anymore." Mordred called the parting blow over his shoulder as he turned his back on his almost-mentor and left him alone in the dark.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, so that's the end of that episode. We're almost to the actual Prince Mordred stuff although the next episode is going to be a bit of a free for all in terms of our little Druid's allegiances, as you guys can probably see. And oh, crap, the Fae is getting closer! Anyway, thanks for reading, and special thanks to _Agana of the Night, catherine10, Isis Ma'at,_ and _SheWalksAtDawn_ for their encouraging reviews. As always, I love hearing from you guys!

 **His Majesty's Secret Playlist**

 _1\. Someone Else's Dream-Laurie Anderson (Set the mood of this entire episode, and also provided all of the chapter titles.)_

 _2\. Up Past the Nursery-Suuns (This song is just the right level of creepy -to me at least- to underscore the fae-centric moments in this story. it kinda ended up serving as her theme tune. lol.)_

 _3\. Breathe me-Sia (Mordred's loss of faith not only in Arthur, but in Emrys, which to him, was much more devestating.)_


	22. What the fires hold at bay

**Episode 5: The Druid Pendragon**

 _"What is real and what is true are not necessarily the same thing." -Salman Rushdie_

Chapter 1: What the fires hold at bay...

Bright sunlight shone down on the frosty town square of Camelot where two sturdy, strongly built guards hauled their disconcertingly cooperative burden up the steps to the gallows. Walker even smiled condescendingly at the executioner as he placed the noose around the assassin's neck and adjusted it. The older man tried to avoid his glittering gaze. As his charges were read out and the King said his piece, Walker somehow managed to give off an unmistakable impression of smug superiority. He behaved as if he were watching over the proceedings from a great height, barely restraining himself from sharing the punchline to some great cosmic joke that only he could see playing out.

* * *

In a poorer, altogether shoddier-looking town not far at all from the Northern border, on a moonlit night not aligned in time - but still inexorably bound to that sunlit morning and the creature smiling smugly in Camelot's courtyard - Mordred sat and waited. There was a dark blue scarf shrouding his head and a sword strapped to his back. He perched in a ready crouch on the spine of a roof two stories up, watching the tree line on the other side of the border wall. Bran had bolted into the forest just a couple of minutes ago with a clear target in mind. Mordred didn't know who, but he had picked up the impression of a large, human silhouette from his familiar just before the wolf ran off. Mordred doubted that it was a coincidence. He almost hoped that it would turn out to be one of Arthur's men, or someone else the King had paid to track his wayward heir. Then Mordred forcefully stifled the thought. He was better off alone. Company meant trouble, no matter how he felt about it.

Then Mordred saw his wolf trotting back towards the wall, licking his chops. Someone had just fed him a piece of venison. It was charmed meat, first to tempt the beast, then to calm him. Mordred narrowed his eyes at the man following his familiar back to town, and ran on silent feet to the large, smoking chimney on the other end of the roof to hide in its shadow. He closed his eyes to focus and his jaw clenched in resentment as he recognized the familiar mind of his stalker. Mordred didn't move another muscle until he felt his prey trundle into just the right position outside the old Inn. Then, with a lightning fast precision and grace earned through years of practice, Mordred slid diagonally down towards his target and pounced off the edge of the roof. He drew his sword mid-drop and had his former master pinned to the ground with the blade to his throat before the larger man could react.

"Ragnor," Mordred accused fiercely.

"Now, now. Don't do anything you're going to regret!" Ragnor advised with an awkward chuckle.

"I won't."

"I can see that you're a little cross, Boy," Ragnor paused for a fleeting moment to admire the teen's stoic expression. "But you never wanted me dead."

"You hired the mercenary whom I caught going through my things," Mordred recalled, sounding as if he were considering a mildly entertaining anecdote. The predatory glint in his pale blue eyes betrayed his true feelings.

"I was just checking on your state of mind! Word is you've been through quite an ordeal recently." The show of concern prompted Mordred to narrow his eyes, as the slaver continued. "Stress can make people like you a lot less stable," Ragnor explained seriously, "It makes you vulnerable."

Mordred let out a heartfelt scoff, but withdrew his sword a few centimeters from its ominous press against his captive's throat nonetheless.

"Where is Ol' Jim by the way?" Ragnor inquired conversationally.

"You won't be seeing him again," Mordred replied. "I am not nearly so 'vulnerable' as you had hoped." He got up, sheathing his sword as he turned and walked away toward the entrance to the Inn.

"That was not my hope at all," Ragnor denied, getting up off the ground to follow him.

Mordred kept walking. "I have suffered your presence long enough not to trust any concern you would show toward me."

"What about your Mother?" Ragnor called after him.

Mordred stopped walking and slowly turned back to eye the slaver inquisitively.

"She'd kill me slowly if you were slain on my watch, and we both know that's no bluff."

"You're here on Morgana's behalf," Mordred observed, "An interesting choice..."

"I won't waste time lying about it; that Witch is the maddest creature this side of the Veil, and nearly as deadly," Ragnor admitted, striding closer, his usual overblown bravado returning. "But she's your Mum and she wants you home safe, so you'd better come with me."

Mordred watched the Priestess' messenger for a silent moment, then shook his head. "No. You really aren't well suited for emotional appeals, not that threats will do you any better." He whistled once. "Bran, we're going inside."

"We're not done here!" Ragnor dissented in a tone that used to command his most obedient Druid toy.

"We are," Mordred corrected as he reached the door. " **Go back to your camp.** " He stepped into the warm firelight trickling out of the entryway and headed up to the room he had rented for the night, without sparing another thought to the troublesome wretch outside. "People like me..." he considered aloud. "Morgana, what are you up to?"

* * *

Mordred opened his eyes the next morning to stare up at the ceiling at the exact same time, in the exact same rudderless mood as he'd awoken in every morning since he'd been revealed to be Prince. Sometimes, it wasn't a ceiling that he found himself staring at. Sometimes it was a ghostly, dawn-lit sky, or the dark, slick, dripping branches of rain-soaked trees. One especially memorable time, it had been Bran's mismatched eyes unreasonably close to his own. That-unlike every other morning-had somewhat disrupted this listless feeling, however briefly.

The culprit himself was currently sprawled out over Mordred's legs with his paws and nose twitching, caught up in a lupine dream. Mordred could never remember what woke him, but he supposed he must've been dreaming too, even if he couldn't remember. Downstairs, the Innkeeper was running through his usual morning routine of wandering about the place grumpily, making a nuisance of himself by rearranging random items wrongly due to lack of wakefulness, and harassing his wife -the cook-about the readiness of breakfast. Mordred tracked the proceedings for a moment with his magic when the sleepy Innkeeper let the cat in without registering the living and apparently wholly-uninjured raven in her clutches. The bird -roughly three quarters the size of its feline courier- broke free and flew about the enclosed space of the front room like a feathered tempest, making its irritation regarding the situation known. The flustered innkeeper chased haplessly after the raven, catching several breakable objects it knocked down as it went; the cook chased after him waving and abusing him with her ladle, and the cat sat by the fire and cleaned herself in preparation for breakfast. _This seems like it will take some time..._ Mordred observed, deciding to wait it out in the warmth of his bed. He already had his bag all packed and ready for a swift departure, because that's how he'd learned to keep it. Ragnor would be waiting for him, but the man was a late sleeper, and not especially difficult to evade. It was likely that no one else at the Inn would be awake for several hours to come.

* * *

At the edge of the village, a cloaked figure rode in on a dark, half-mad steed. The markings on the saddle indicated that the animal was of the finest stock, property of Camelot's royal stable, but it snorted and tossed its head wildly as it was reined to a stop. The spindly hands of the pale, scrawny rider caused twitches and nervous spasms in the horse's muscles just at the suggestion of a touch. His very presence in the world exuded a subliminal sense of wrongness. A dissonance between the man that was clearly there, and the truth belying that clarity. No normal human would know more of it than the mere feeling: a subtle yet persistent instinct that caused an itch at the back of one's mind, a nagging sense of something important... vital even, just out of reach of one's thoughts.

Luckily for the average, everyday humans of this particular village he- if 'he' was the right thing to call him anymore- was not there for an average, everyday human. Unfortunately for Mordred, none of the villagers around him had the ability of perception that might allow him a warning. Even the markings on the horse that might normally alert him to a traveler from his uncle's land coming his way were overlooked and instantly forgotten due to that horrible dissonance. No one wanted to see the troublesome stranger or the fearful beast on which he rode, so they didn't. Therefore, the monster within the dissonant man was carried treacherously closer towards unprepared clairvoyant prey. The Prince, for all his magic, destiny and potential for power, was still a boy alone. Without Emrys' blanketing presence, it would only be a matter of time before the charade was finally ended and the creature inside could come out to play.

The cloaked rider made his way to the old inn and slipped off the horse allowing it to bolt away, careless. His feral smirk brightened to show a flash of teeth as he knocked crisply on the door; the racket inside turned to utter silence.

* * *

Mordred paused in the middle of pulling his coat on, jerking as if struck. He felt the jarring force of potent wild magic surging through him, not allowing him even the time to panic before he blinked once heavily and slumped onto the edge of his bed. He was barely even still upright enough to be described as sitting. His thoughts were moving slowly as if they were caught in a vat of sticky molasses. He watched, helpless, as Bran growled and scratched at the edge of the door, only to abandon the effort and turn growling and snapping at his master.

"I can't..." Mordred mumbled, sounding half-asleep. It was coming closer.

Bran lunged threateningly toward him. Mordred tried and failed to shake himself awake. Bran bit him.

"Ah! F- Thank you?" Mordred stumbled upright and dove for the window, feeling only intoxicated rather than incapacitated. The wooden shutters to the windows, although unlatched, were somehow sealed shut from the outside. "Oh, youmustbebloodyjoking!" Mordred punched his uncooperative escape route and glanced down at Bran.

The wolf pointedly nipped at his leg and bared his teeth.

"Ow! Fuck it!" Mordred started throwing his upper body against the wooden shutters, praying to nobody in particular that the old things were as ill-kept as they looked.

By the time the rider strode into the room Bran was crouched well out of sight, and the smashed open window was the only indication of where exactly his Druid quarry might be.

"Hmmm," he bent down and peeked tauntingly under the bed at the snarling beast huddled below. "I knew this would be a fun one."

* * *

That evening, two more travelers from Camelot made their way into the eerily quiet inn. The first to enter, froze in his tracks, holding out his arm to halt his friend's approach. As usual, that wasn't enough actually to affect his idiot servant's behavior.

"Merlin..."

"I'm not saying that we should give up, Arthur, but this is getting pretty far from Camelot!" Merlin prattled on, oblivious.

" _Mer_ lin. _"_ The King shot his best friend a warning look, which was also completely lost on him. They'd been riding a bit too long for that kind of alertness to subtlety.

"We're practically on the border and the last sign of- Oh." Merlin noticed the disturbing tableau they'd wandered into just as the King grabbed him roughly by the arm. The Innkeeper and his wife were standing behind the reception desk, and staring into space, vacant smiles plastered over their faces. A dead bird sat on the desk before them and they were coated in a layer of dew. The fire in the hearth had obviously burned out a long time ago and there was a charred pot still hanging over the remains. Apparently, someone had started cooking and then just left it there to burn away, along with the untended fire.

Arthur's hand moved to the hilt of his sword. Merlin pushed past and crossed the room to check on the motionless pair.

"What do you think you're doing?" Arthur scolded his servant.

"Don't you want to know what happened?" Merlin responded, feeling the innkeeper's neck for a pulse before beginning to inspect the dead raven. "Hmm, looks like something clawed it..." His shoulders relaxed somewhat in relief. "There's probably a cat around here somewhere."

"There is obviously dark magic at work here, Merlin. We need to keep our guard up," Arthur admonished, making his way towards the staircase at Merlin's back.

"I see, and what are you going to do if it threatens us, stab it with your sword?"

"Sorcerers can still die from a wound, just like everyone else," Arthur pointed out. "You, however, are completely useless as you're unarmed, so stop mucking about and get behind me."

Merlin rolled his eyes but acquiesced, following just a couple of steps behind Arthur while he unobtrusively cast out his magic in search of more clues about what had happened here. Merlin had recognized the charge in the air left behind by fae magic and he figured that, considering what they were up against, he should take the chance to use his magic to search the area while Arthur couldn't see his eyes glowing. "Why start with the upstairs? The spell seems to have been cast right from the entrance."

"There's a key missing from the board, it should match a room up... here," Arthur stopped at the only door in the hall left open a crack. He pushed it open and carefully checked the room for threats before making his way inside. "The window looks like it's been rammed open from the inside." Arthur appraised, walking over to inspect the battered remains of shutters. "Someone was trapped in here, but there's no indication of how these could have been physically sealed..."

Merlin looked grimly up at the King from the leather satchel he'd been poking through. "Mordred," he concluded, snapping Arthur's full attention to him. "These are his things. All of his things..." Merlin picked up the familiar, frayed black coat off the wooden floorboards. "Whoever did this, it looks as though they caught him completely off guard."

Arthur frowned, opening his mouth to speak but was stopped by the sound of a short, anxious growl. The men exchanged a glance and Merlin lifted up the edge of the blankets to peek under the bed.

"Bran?" Arthur questioned.

Merlin nodded, eying the cowering predator. "Well, that's disturbing."

The wolf sniffed at him cautiously.

Arthur sighed and whistled, "Come on you." He whistled again more forcefully after the wolf hesitated. "There you are," he greeted stroking Bran's fur in encouragement, then wondered.

"He only knows Druid, Arthur," Merlin said in the familiar's defense.

"He's an animal, _Mer_ lin." Arthur stood up and led said animal out into the hallway. "Bring that bag out with you. If I know my nephew, he'll have headed for the trees. We may still be able to pick up his trail before we lose the light."

Merlin paused on his way out to cast one more long, discerning glance over the bedroom. It was a fae that'd done this, although the reason why the fae would be so interested in Mordred rather than in the King still eluded him. "Who are you?"

* * *

Three weeks ago...

Rain trickled down over two dirty, tired looking workers as they cut Walker's body down and hauled him over to the cart.

"Bloody weather, innit," the younger of the two workers remarked to the man pushing the cart.

The man nodded politely, then reached up to catch the hood of his wet cloak as the wind blasted a spray of rain at his face.

"Edzacly!" the young worker said, pointing a finger as if the draft had somehow vindicated him.

"Quiet, you simpleton," the older worker rebuked, shoving his compatriot's shoulder. "We all got work to do." To the man at the cart he added a gruff, "Good luck, Mate."

The man nodded once more and spared the two a mildly dismissive wave as he moved on, transporting the body out of the town proper until he reached the edge of the forest. Another peasant, this time a woman, had just placed a plain, uncarved stone as a makeshift marker at the head of the open grave.

"There, even a twisted swoine like 'im might 'ave decent folk as wants to know his restin' place. ...They won't miss 'im," the woman muttered the last part mostly to herself, perhaps aware that she was contradicting her own words. She helped to turn the cart and turned away to grab the shovel while he hoisted the body out of the cart and carried it to the open grave. Then the hooded man simply tossed it into the grave like a bag of waste, causing the peasant to suck in a shocked gasp followed by a little nervous giggle at the gall of it.

"That's so disrespectful! That was a livin' thing not too long ago; we can't go around 'urling corpses!" She reproached. "It just ain't done! Even if he were a right spooky one. Mad as a bag o' shook snakes, actin' like he thought he were immortal- but we don't go 'round tossin' bodies 'cause we ain't, either!" She held out the heavy, metal tool toward him. "Your shovel. I thought I might 'elp you bury 'im, but I ain't spendin' time with no corpse-tosser, thank you." The man watched with silent amusement the peasant murmuring disgustedly to herself while she pushed the empty cart back toward town, and he began to chuckle quietly. The chuckle gradually grew louder, building more and more with each new shovel full of dirt dropped onto the disintegrating 'body' in the grave. The differently colored, dead and dried leaves blew apart in the wind, ruining the facade of flesh and cloth and hair, as the falsehood they enacted was buried in the mud. The rain settled to a stop and the Fae in Walker's body pulled back his hood, and her mischievous laughter rang musically through the windswept forest.

* * *

 **A/N:** Sorry this took so long guys. I know this is also shorter than the usual chapters but hopefully the stress/block will shift off of me soon and I'll be back to my usual lengthier updates. Thank you guys so much for sticking with me, and special thanks to my lovely reviewers _Linorien, Agana of the night, Isis Ma'at, NerdGirlAlert, Sword-Rain, SisterOfAnElvenWannabe,_ and _booksareforescaping_ for helping to coax me back into the right headspce to keep this story flowing. I guess it proably goes without saying this time, but I'm still gonna say it: feedback is more than welcome, so feel free to review.


	23. Above

Chapter 2: Above

Mordred pressed his back to the rain slick trunk of the old oak from his perch in the upper branches. The dark grey of the sky lit the forest with eerie silver tones that only added to the nightmarish ambiance. He had left his outer layers behind in his haste to escape and the dreary weather was making him pay for that mistake. Each breath he drew emerged in wisps of mist into the harsh wind that fluttered his chilled gray tunic over his skin. If the Fae wanted to use the weather to beat him into submission, however, Mordred expected he'd be quite a bit more uncomfortable than some aches and shivering. After all, he knew for a fact that Emrys could do worse without breaking a sweat and he was more-or-less human.

Mordred had been skulking around the forest, keeping out of sight and occasionally moving from one refuge to another in search of comfort, or at least a better vantage point. The Fae had come within his line of sight twice, each time scaring him into near paralysis. (Mordred's wary eyes scan the expanse of forest visible through the branches surrounding him. "The Fae are immensely powerful and wild. The Old Gods, as my people knew them. We call them that because they walked this earth long before people such as you and I existed - even as a concept that would lead to a definite thought, that might eventually be given form and life. They are old enough to know all the true names of all the plants and creatures that live here. They have learned the unspoken truths of all the rock, the soil and the water that make up this land, and in knowing them, they wield their strength. It should not be possible for a mere man such as myself to hide from the Fae for long, if at all. I cannot escape, but perhaps, I can procrastinate…." Mordred shifts himself, either to get more comfortable, or the better to prepare for his inevitable flight - whichever works. "I will procrastinate," he stubbornly affirms. A twig snaps, causing him to go wide-eyed and still for a long moment. "I do not miss Camelot!" Mordred denies in a dishonest whisper.)

"Oh, isn't this darling?" A familiar voice remarked in a stranger's accent. Walker circled the trunk of Mordred's oak and leaned back against the weathered bark to grin up at him. Mordred gulped. "You're still so young and sweet and timid. Let us put your fears to rest."

Mordred felt his eyelids growing heavy. He stubbornly tried to blink the feeling away but it was such a calming sensation, as if the wind were carrying off any memory of his past life. His fears, his worries, his pain - it all was stripped until he could hardly remember being Mordred anymore. He simply was. The senseless, thoughtless, unconsciousness that once called itself Mordred hovered in a state of suspension within his core. The Clairvoyant's motionless body slumped down through the branches. It was a corporeal shell, shed by its ghostly wearer, upon landing to fall deep, into a hidden place beyond the forest floor. Mordred's otherworldly captor watched with a self-satisfied smile.

"Your move, My Lord," the creature remarked coyly, glancing back in the direction of her two pursuers, before strolling away into the thickening fog that crept in from the north.

* * *

The sun was just beginning to set, casting a beautiful wash of gradient color across the small patches of sky that Merlin and Arthur only occasionally managed to glimpse through the canopy of dark, glistening branches. Merlin's every muscle was tensed and ready for a fight. The air around them was thick with ancient, wild magic, slowing them down as if they were pushing through treacle. It was time dilation. Emrys, being Emrys, could actually perceive it, literally experiencing the intense, artificial ebb of time around them as soon as he and Arthur stepped into it. Regardless of his lack of magic, even the Prat's capability for obliviousness had its limits. He'd begun showing signs of agitation a few hours ago, and had finally started to give up on his efforts to hide his suspicions from his manservant just within the past hour.

"That does it! It cannot be just in my head! We have been walking for over five hours now and when I look back," the fed-up King turned and whipped his arm towards their origin, "I can still see the stake I used to marked our starting point in the distance! We are _literally_ going nowhere!"

"I wasn't going to say anything..." Merlin admitted with his patented 'obtuse servant' expression plastered on his face to prevent violent retribution.

His friend and monarch looked like he did want to throw something at him. Instead Arthur just mimed strangling him in order to bypass his frustration and utter loss for words.

"Well, look on the bright side, Arthur..." Merlin began, doing his best to conceal the inappropriate rush of amusement he was feeling.

"What! What bright side? You bumbling oaf! Where do you see a bright side?!" Arthur vented.

"I don't know, that's what people say, isn't it? There's always a bright side..." Merlin rambled on, distracting Arthur from the rats he'd sneakily magicked into scouting their surroundings for them and Bran's alert tracking of their progress. "I suppose this is good exercise. That's good-ish. Lots of fresh air? I can think of more. If you give me time..."

"I will not," Arthur stated flatly, adding, "idiot." Under his breath.

"What's that?" Merlin said, pointing past Arthur towards the daunting results of his enchanted search. He absentmindedly released his influence over the bewitched rodents, only for Bran to snatch one and scarf it down before the poor thing could regain its bearings. Merlin couldn't help but feel a tad guilty about that.

"What?" Arthur asked, looking back at him. Merlin was already jogging past toward what really looked like Sir Mordred curled up with his face pressed into the damp moss and soil.

"It looks like a body," the Guardian responded in a tense voice. The body didn't feel alive to his magical senses, but it also didn't feel dead either. He brushed the soil away from the familiar face, and felt his magic pass through the body as if it were nothing. It felt like he was touching a placeholder for the living person who should be lying there.

"Mordred!" Arthur called, pushing past Merlin to grab his nephew off the frozen ground and try to rub some warmth back into his arms. Merlin knelt down beside them and felt the Absent Prince's neck for a pulse to be certain, then frowned. Something was missing.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure... Here, just let me." He pressed his hand to the boy's chest, just over his heart. Nothing. He felt the pulse point again, then listened for breath...

"Merlin-"

"Shut up." Merlin listened, and felt the breaths rising from Mordred's cold lips. He felt the Prince's still chest again, squeezing his eyes shut. Again, nothing. "Sire," he added belatedly.

"Merlin, tell me, what is the problem?" Arthur snapped.

"It doesn't make sense..." Merlin considered aloud.

Arthur cuffed him upside the head.

"Ow! I don't know yet," the physician-in-training explained. "I just... here. Feel that?" He yanked one of the King's gloves off and pressed his fingers to Mordred's neck.

"Yes?"

"And that?" Merlin moved Arthur's hand again to hover over his heir's mouth.

"Yes. You know it's generally a good sign when your patient is breathing?" Arthur remarked scathingly. Merlin moved the hand to rest on the Prince's chest.

"It would be."

Merlin watched Arthur's expression fade from a confused scowl to astonished denial.

"No... No that can't be- That isn't possible!"

"He must have left it on purpose..." Merlin reasoned in a near whisper. "But why?"

Arthur caught it anyway. "He? Merlin, do you know who's doing this?!"

Merlin shot him what he hoped was an appropriately quizzical look.

Arthur blinked away his absurd suspicion. "Someone has just cursed the heir to the throne. If he dies-"

"I agree," Merlin interjected, resting a comforting hand on Arthur's arm. "That's why I'm trying to figure it out." He watched his friend's expression carefully as he requested. "Let me?"

Arthur nodded, dragging a hand over his pale face and backing away to hover uncertainly over the healer's shoulder. Merlin gently parted the lids to check one of his patient's eyes; it appeared to stare glassily into the distance like the eye of a painted doll. He could see the 'breath' still misting in the air as it escaped the boy's nostrils. No help there. His skin was cold to the touch, but his clothes...

"Perfect..." Merlin muttered. The garments were untouched by the frozen soil and inclement weather, despite how long their wearer had been exposed to the elements. They looked and felt as if they'd just been pulled on, fresh and warm from a fireside line.

"Perhaps, we should take him back to Gaius. Yes, he studied these sorts of things, he'll know what to do," Arthur reasoned. Merlin ignored him in favor of continuing to investigate. The Druid tattoo was just barely peeking out from under the loosely tied linen tunic - only that was wrong. "Wait a minute."

Emrys tugged the cords free and nudged the fabric aside to watch the ink lines on Mordred's chest wriggle and dance out of sight like a living thing. His hand chased the fleeing pattern out of sheer instinct and pinned the dark, greenish tattoo on top of Mordred's black clan mark. The greenish pattern wove into a flowing, intricate knot of luminous emerald. It grew brighter while it bled out of Mordred's skin and passed through the Dragonlord, making his eyes shift to the glowing, golden embers around serpentine slits of his reptilian kin.

"Are you alright, Merlin?"

Merlin fought down the inhuman roar that threatened to escape him, feeling the working jump from him into the hand that had just grabbed his shoulder. He whipped his head round to check on Arthur the very instant that his vision, and therefore, his appearance returned to normal. Arthur was studying an intricate knot tattooed onto his arm, right where it had no business being.

"Now, let's get back to Camelot before anything worse happens," Arthur ordered, scooping his nephew up and readying to carry him back the way they'd come. "Whatever trap this sorcerer has sprung on us I'm sure that you and Gaius can handle it at home." He started walking, then stopped a few paces away, once he noticed his friend wasn't following.

"This isn't the work of a sorcerer," Merlin stated, sounding a bit faint.

"Why do you say that?" Arthur questioned, trying not to acknowledge the foreboding feeling rolling off his grave-looking manservant.

"Because I'm pretty sure that I've seen that sigil before," Merlin continued, remembering some of the old marks and portents from Druid cautionary tales that Mordred had relayed to his mind; he hadn't been willing to draw out a single one by hand. They were too dangerous, belonging solely to the Fae. "I think we're in trouble."

Arthur forced out a scoff, trying to reassure his frightened companion, and maybe himself as well. "You always think we're in trouble. Come along. We should get back to the horses. You can tell me about this marking you saw once we've found someplace warmer."

* * *

Merlin woke to sounds of movement downstairs. He had been asleep in the room at the Inn where they'd found Mordred's things. He suspected that Arthur had fallen asleep in his vigil at the Prince's bedside. Bran jumped off the foot of the bed and trotted out into the hall with a soft rumbling in his throat. It wasn't quite a growl. Merlin got up out of bed and followed the unhappy wolf. Bran was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, but he trotted away again once the warlock was close. It wasn't difficult to see what had woken them up. The center of the room now featured a huge, circular pit with a staircase spiraling down around the strange root formation that fanned out from the center. Bran stopped at the edge to let out a communicative little song that Mordred probably would've understood just fine and looked up at Merlin. The Guardian eyed the new features to the room with growing concern, then looked determinedly to Mordred's familiar.

"Wait for me," he instructed, uncertain of how well the foreign command would translate. Thankfully, Bran seemed to get it, curling up on the floor to lounge by the beginning of the impossible stairway. Merlin looked him over once to be sure that he really was settled in, then began to descend into the unknown. The canopy of upward growing roots was thick and ashy black - somehow ancient- in direct contradiction with the sudden overnight appearance. The tightly interwoven system that he circled on smooth slate steps was sturdy and thick. The immortal in him knew that this tree had weathered countless generations of growth, perhaps more than even he could ever witness. It was just as certain a fact to him as the knowledge that he had left his human self behind in the world above, setting Merlin aside for the moment so that the Guardian might reach beyond. As he neared what looked like a tree trunk, the darkness began to engulf him. He summoned up a fire to rest in his palm without bothering to utter the spell. Lord Emrys was about to be among his equals; there was no time for ceremony. Eventually, he arrived at the tile floor which allowed for passage under the abundant branches, leaving him just enough room to reach up and run his palms over what would be the treetop, were this any other tree.

"Hello?" he called cautiously, able to feel at least one other magical presence somewhere nearby. They were watching. "Do you know where you are?" The magic was familiar, faint, almost drowned out by the wild energy flowing and cresting over them. "Hello? I know you're there," the Guardian sucked in a deep breath, scenting traces of life teeming in the surrounding darkness, along with the cold, foreboding sting of salt. "If you call me I'll find you! Can anyone he-"

"This way..." the response was weak and strange, wandering back and forth between thought and sound as if the speaker couldn't quite remember how either worked. It was still unmistakably Mordred.

"Where?" Emrys replied, starting to follow in the direction from which the call seemed to originate. He held out his flaming palm to light the way, but failed to see anything but a few fluttering moths and a disinterested owl up ahead where the floor gave way to a field of tall grasses.

"This way."

"I don't suppose you could give me a direction?"

"Supposed to give a direction?" Mordred's call responded, sounding more like he was playing with the concept and reflecting upon it rather than conveying a cohesive message.

"You know, are you… forward? Right?" Emrys demonstrated each direction with both a gesture and a focused thought, trying to cover all his options. "Left? Or back?" He took a step back and waited for the Clairvoyant to form a response.

"No."

"I need a direction, Sir Knight," Emrys said sarcastically. He had tried following the sound and sensation of Mordred's call until he couldn't get any closer. At this point cooperation was necessary. "What direction are you in?"

"Not forward, not right, not left, not back," Mordred's reply carried a nearly tangible feeling of annoyance. The subtext was clear enough.

"You're not below..." the Guardian glanced down anyway, just to reassure himself of that fact. The ornate stone mosaic under his feet caught him off-guard and he brushed his hands across each other to light it with a flash of embers and confirm what he was seeing. "The mark of Nemain," he breathed, then looked up into the branches hanging overhead. _"I've found you."_ He thought to the sleeping Druid suspended against the branch above by a patchwork of grasping leaves. The Guardian tried to grab the tips of the tree top in order to climb up and retrieve the Druid Prince. Before he could get a good grasp, however, another presence surged out of the shadows behind him and yanked him down by his other wrist.

"Dragonlord!" She screeched. Her eyes glistened bright red like rubies and her coppery hair flowed around her head like sunlit water. Everything about her, from the ethereal, faintly-bluish glow of her exposed skin, to the odd way that her gown coiled and rippled around her, spoke of a maiden long submerged. Nemain was a trickster of the Western Face, a God from the Deep and a weaver of true illusions.

"Fae," Emrys answered drily, as if unimpressed, outright refusing to give her the satisfaction.

Nemain swam forward and hissed in his face with her dark currents surging up behind her.

 _"I'll bring you back, I promise!"_ The Guardian communicated to his ensnared charge and spread his arms out wide to create wings of flame reminiscent of his reptilian brethren, countering Nemain's wave of dark, smothering water with his white-hot breath.

Merlin blinked awake with a sharp gasp, then propped himself up on his elbows to look toward the fire. Arthur was still wide awake, staring into the flames, and Mordred's human shell remained exactly as Merlin had left it: tucked into the other bedroll within easy reach of his Uncle's watchful post. Only that wasn't really Mordred, not all of him anyway. Merlin reached out and grabbed a handful of frozen soil, watching it crumble between his fingers. Mordred was trapped down below.

"You were hissing in your sleep," Arthur informed him. "Did you know that?"

"I dreamt that Morgana turned me into a lizard," Merlin lied, watching Bran get up from where he'd been dozing atop his unconscious Master and turn in a tight circle, only to plop back down in the same limp sprawl that he'd already been lying in before.

"And what did that have to do with Mordred?" Arthur asked, not sounding all that interested.

"He was in a tree."

"That makes sense," Arthur responded, proving -in Merlin's reckoning at least- that he wasn't paying attention, anyway. The young King likely only wanted a reminder that he wasn't alone.

* * *

Northeast of the three travelers, a Druid woman sat in the shadow of a dark tower with her golden-brown ringlets tied back and her characteristic linen dress replaced by more maneuverable brown leather. She paused in her sharpening of the sword in her lap to glance up at a man who'd suddenly ascended out of the dusty ground before her.

"Well hello, lovely girl. You must be Kara," the scrawny blond rogue greeted with a flirtatious smile.

Kara's brows twitched upward in skepticism of the impossible visitor. "You're trespassing."

"I think you'll find that to be an endearing habit of mine. By all means, summon your Lady. We need to talk."

Kara scrutinized him briefly, then turned to the dark passageway on her left that led into the tower proper.

The Fae inside Walker let out an impatient huff.

"Lady Morgana, there's a strange man here asking for an audience," Kara begrudgingly relayed.

"How can that be? I plainly told the guards: no one is to-" Morgana's diatribe died on her lips the moment she reached the doorway. She nearly tripped on her own feet at the sight of the visitor, such was her shock. "Get inside."

Kara frowned up at her leader, confused. "Why? Has something-"

"I meant now, quickly! I will not ask again," Morgana kept her voice admirably steady, considering how frightened she was. She could feel the raw, suffocating power of the Old Gods exuding from the human vessel.

Nemain smirked down at her as her underling scurried inside. "You look troubled."

"With respect, I am uncertain why a being such as you would be interested in me?" Morgana responded, attempting to be appropriately humble.

"That sounds like a realistic expectation for you. Well done," Nemain observed.

"Have you come here to make sport of me?"

Nemain chuckled. "I am in possession of someone you claim as yours. Being in an amicable mood I thought it might be fun to offer you a choice."

"I don't understand. I do not know this man," Morgana declared, stepping down out of the doorway and venturing just out of arms' reach of her visitor.

"Oh no, you don't know this one," Nemain said patting her host's chest. She swept an arm up, causing his image to run like the surface of a rapid stream. It coalesced again into a familiar face. "But you know me. Don't you, Mother?" The silvery pale specter asked, his dark curls floating and glistening as though he were submerged in moonlit waters.

"Mordred-!" Morgana reached out to him, but he melted into a cascade of chilled water the moment that her finger brushed the damp fabric of his tunic. Walker was left standing, completely dry, in her son's place. "You have my child..." Morgana said, breathlessly stumbling away to catch herself against the tower wall.

"He is unharmed. I have him safe and sound, for now. Would you like him back?"

"Yes, please give him back to me!" Morgana hurried forward to hang on Walker's arms.

"There's a catch. How badly do you want to have him?" The Fae asked, holding up a finger. The look in Walker's now blood-red eyes sent a shiver down the Priestess' spine. "In what manner?"

Morgana tensed and took a cautious step back, away from the predator standing before her. "What would you have me do?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading, and for bearing with me through the unexpectedly extended wait. I'm unabashedly claiming it an act of god as the blackout that threw me off the planned schedule for about a week was caused by weather. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this result(I think my gloomy, chilly surroundings really had an impact on these scenes). Special thanks to my dear reviewers _booksareforescaping, NerdGirlAlert, Agana of the Night, Isis Ma'at_ , and _SisterOfAnElvenWannabe_ for the support. As always feedback is most appreciated.


	24. Seeking an audience with absent Gods

**Chapter 3: Seeking an audience with absent Gods**

Merlin and Arthur rode quickly in through the palace gates with the physician-in-training swiftly dismounting as soon as they neared the palace steps.

"Send for Gaius," Percival ordered from the doorway to the two guards descending the stairs in front of him. "Sir Gwaine!" He called out over his shoulder, hurrying to help Merlin lower the ragdoll-still Prince from the King's saddle.

"Careful, he's very weak," Merlin advised, doing his best to keep his patient's spine supported while he shifted to let Gwaine take over the task.

"You found him," the aforementioned knight approved. "What in the world happened to him?"

"We're not entirely sure. It looks like some kind of dark magic, but we won't know what it is until Gaius checks him over." Arthur dismounted and allowed a guard to lead their horses away.

"Magic," Percy spat, sounding unusually exasperated. "Prince Mordred's been gone for barely two weeks and someone's already cursed him."

"Again," Gwaine pointed out, allowing the larger man to take most of the Prince's weight on their way up the palace steps. Elyan appeared in the entryway and exchanged an acknowledging nod with Merlin as he passed, before moving to intercept Arthur.

"You have news for me, Sir Elyan," Arthur prompted, forgoing a greeting as they entered the citadel. Elyan held the door for the other knights, then fell into step beside his King.

"All has been quiet here, your Majesty," Sir Elyan reported. "The Prince's new quarters have been prepared in expectation of your return, and two well esteemed palace servants have requested to be considered for an appointment as his manservant."

"I had thought that George would continue in that post."

"He has respectfully declined the position, Sire. Something about feeling that his skills may be of better use in other parts of the castle," Sir Elyan explained. His tone relayed his own suspicions about the man's reasoning. "And Lord Edmund has requested an audience with you upon your return, insisting that you must discuss the Council's concerns in regards to the new Prince and his effect on Camelot's continued stability."

Arthur's face displayed with no uncertainty just how little he thought of the Councilors' concerns although his royal manners did not allow him to mention it outright.

"The Queen is stalling him, but warns that she cannot do so indeterminately," Elyan responded. "If you'll forgive me, Sire. I wonder how much merit there truly is in continuing to humor him. It hardly seems as though we will be forced back to the ways of the Old Religion simply by accepting one Druid-born heir as Prince."

"Unfortunately, that is the hazard I brought upon myself when I accepted the advice of my father's old Council," Arthur accepted. "No matter whether their advice in this matter has been requested or not."

"As you say, Sire." Elyan leveled the King with a pointed look as they rounded the corner, and Arthur allowed him a tired but accepting smile. If only getting the old Lords to relent were that easy. Arthur would be more than happy to retire a few, but as contentious as the climate within the Royal Court was getting after Mordred's revelation, openly challenging the High Council would turn things ugly overnight. The truth was, King or not, Arthur was currently balanced on the proverbial knife's edge where his rule was concerned. If he failed to get his nephew to fall in line, he would be left vulnerable to a competing claim to the crown. Should he lose the Council's backing, Camelot's economy and political allegiances would be crippled in result. However, if he managed to coax Mordred into accepting his place in the line of succession, yet failed to gain the acceptance and loyalty of Camelot's people towards his chosen heir, he would lose them too. And so, it went on and on... not to mention the damage Mordred's sudden, inexplicable demise would cause. Arthur's Kingship was balanced on the blade, alright, and he fancied that he was beginning to feel the first prick.

* * *

"Impossible," Gaius muttered to himself as he continued to inspect his enchanted patient. "Impossible..." he turned back to his worktable and retrieved yet another lens with which to scrutinize Mordred's skin. This one was tinted red, not that Merlin understood why that was relevant "It's-"

"Impossible?" Arthur preempted, and exchanged a look with his equally unimpressed manservant. "Yes, Merlin got that far. We were hoping that you would be able to tell us how to fix it."

"I am sorry to say it, but I have not seen an enchantment of this potency before, and I believed that I knew of all of them."

"All the enchantments that a sorcerer could use for this purpose?" Arthur verified, staring thoughtfully down at Mordred's face.

"Yes..." Gaius agreed uncertainly.

"I take it that this mark is of a different origin?" Arthur inquired, keeping watch of both healers' reactions as he rolled up his sleeve to show the tattoo now marking his forearm.

The two knights seated at the table leaned forward to see.

"What's that?" Gwaine remarked. He looked like he wanted to fidget but was trying not to appear unmanly. Behind him, Percival passed a hand over his mouth in an unconscious gesture, as if shushing himself at the sight of it. Merlin narrowed his eyes, but chose not to say anything.

"Is it just me, or is that moving?" Elyan observed, leaning away a bit. His reaction was less tempered by his perceived limits of manliness.

"Yes," Arthur confirmed, keeping his eyes on Gaius' perplexed expression. "I don't suppose you've seen this before either..." the King realized aloud.

"No Sire, but I fear that it is not of this realm." Gaius paused to consider, leaving the King all the opening that he needed to turn on his friend and servant.

"So then, where have you seen it before, Merlin?" Arthur inquired with a begrudging sort of suspicion. It sounded as if he were almost more discomfited by the necessity of suspecting his friend than he was concerned that Merlin might be hiding something. Everyone's attention settled on the awkward manservant.

"Well," Merlin coughed to clear his throat, and buy himself a second or two to think. "I didn't see it so much as-" He made a point to look directly at Arthur as he spoke, resolutely ignoring his mentor.

"Yes? Spit it out. We haven't got all day," the King prompted.

"He described it to me..."

" 'He' did?"

"Prince Mordred."

Arthur glared at him. "In what context?" he asked in a clipped voice.

Merlin's eyes flickered however fleetingly to Gaius and back before he continued, "A couple nights before he was kidnapped, I was passing by his room and heard Mordred crying out in his sleep. When I came in to check on him-" Arthur and Gwaine exchanged looks of fond amusement at Merlin's typical lack of consideration for closed doors. "Oh don't- I knocked first!" Merlin objected. No one looked very convinced. "Where was I? Right. When I tried to speak with him about it, Mordred kept insisting that there had been a woman standing over his bed and that she was trying reach into his mind."

"Sounds like a nightmare. What does that have to do with Arthur's tattoo?" Elyan questioned.

"I thought it was a night terror," Merlin admitted, noting the warning quirk of Gaius' brow. "But he kept insisting that she had really been there. He said that she was one of the Old Gods, described the symbol she wore-that symbol!- and was convinced that she was trying to steal knowledge from his mind."

"You never mentioned a word of it to me!" Gaius objected.

"So that you could do what, give him a stronger sleeping draft?" Merlin countered; the cover for his real reason for secrecy was turning out to be a perfect chance to vent some of the guilt and lingering doubts resurrected by Mordred's confession of the Le Fay's 'affliction'.

"I understand how upsetting it must have been for you to witness that after having seen his Mother suffer as she did in her youth, but that does not give you the right to second guess-let alone intercept my treatments, Young Man," Gaius scolded. "I am still the Royal Physician and Prince Mordred is my patient!"

"You haven't denied that you would have drugged him. He needed someone to listen to him, not to be made to feel insane," Merlin gestured to the enchanted Prince to punctuate his point. "He was right!"

"And only you knew," Arthur put in. Merlin's look of betrayal prompted the King to clasp his friend's shoulder and continue "That isn't a reproach, Merlin. Gaius is right. After seeing what Morgana's affliction did to her, it was understandable that you'd want to shield her son from the same fate. I might have felt the same way, but it is better to know the truth than to run from a possibility."

Merlin held his gaze for a moment, conceding Arthur's point with a nod before admitting, "I don't really know much about the Old Gods. Mordred only told me a few legends, but nothing that could lead to a treatment."

Gaius nodded, looking like he'd expected that to be the case. "Sadly, I must admit that is likely the best case for anyone not a Druid. Any tangible document of their spiritual beliefs and practices were destroyed during the Purge. Such knowledge has been kept strictly within the clans themselves, and are said to be passed on solely through oral tradition."

"There must be someone who can help us with this, surely," Arthur objected. "These creatures, these supposed Gods are clearly dangerous! You can't expect me to believe that they could go unchecked for this long, whether the records were burnt or not. I've seen what one of these things can do, and there is simply no way that no one would think to stop them!"

"How?" Percival asked, drawing the attention of everyone in the room to his quiet presence. He was looking speculatively at Mordred's face. "We can't fight a God by human means, certainly not without..." he was hesitant to mention using magic but they all heard it in his silence nonetheless.

"Whatever this is, it cannot be a God," Arthur stated with finality.

"The Druids think differently, Sire," Gaius reminded him carefully.

"A God does not need to steal," Arthur argued. "Certainly not from one lone innocent boy. No, it's some sort of magical creature, and as a living creature it is bound to have a weakness. We just need to find it."

* * *

Merlin jogged into the stables to fetch Mordred's things. Most of the King's belongings had already been retrieved and brought up to his chambers. Merlin's had been sent up next, yet the servants seemed hesitant to handle the Prince's things.

"George?" Merlin greeted, surprised to see the perfect servant working in such a lowly place. "You know that the Prince has returned, don't you?"

"Indeed. I expect that you are here to collect his Highness' satchel?" George prefaced, indicating the bag in question set neatly aside on a nearby shelf. "I regret that I have not yet had the chance to deliver it myself. I am afraid some of the others have allowed superstition to prevent the proper progress of our work."

"I guess that's why you had to come down here. You'd never let that stand," Merlin inferred, walking over to look in the bag.

"Quite. What do you think you are doing?" George scolded, looking appalled at the other servant's behavior.

"I'm not superstitious," Merlin replied unhelpfully, continuing to rifle through the other magic user's meager belongings.

"One does not simply shuffle through the Prince's personal effects!"

"One does if one wants to find something," Merlin contradicted, undaunted. "It's fine. He really won't mind."

"Your pre-" George's next objection was interrupted by a loud groaning whine. A loud crack broke the air that both men could physically feel. George nearly jumped out of his skin in shock, looking ready to run out of the stables despite his ingrained propriety. Emrys straightened then calmly turned to address the other-worldly newcomer.

"Merlin," Walker purred, coming to a halt just a few paces short of the two men. "That is what they call you now, isn't it?"

Merlin hazarded a glance at the other servant, but the man was transfixed in terror by the Fae in human form. "Nemain," the Guardian replied foregoing pretext. He leaned back against the shelf behind him, crossing his arms over his chest while he surveyed his challenger. Merlin still wasn't going to allow this to devolve into a fight this close to the palace, but he wasn't about to simply roll over either. "I know who you are now. What do you want with the Pendragons?"

Walker smirked. "Ah. Very astute of you, let's just say I have some strong feelings about what that family has done to my land."

"This isn't your territory." Merlin didn't know how he knew that. He could just feel it in his bones as easily as he'd sensed Nemain's claim to the dark forest they'd recently returned from. "I suggest that you release them both."

Walker laughed gleefully, bending over to rest his hands on his knees as he got ahold of himself. "Oh, that's good. That's very sweet of you to try, but no. I intend to negotiate. You can consider the boy my collateral. If neither Mummy nor Uncle decides to play along, well..."

"We will stop you." Merlin warned.

Walker grinned and offered a mock bow. "I can't wait to see you try it." He then sank into the ground as if it were fluid. George fainted. Merlin watched absently as the man went down like a plank, then looked up to the iron brackets that were subtly hissing against the wooden post. They'd gone red hot in the presence of the Fae's potent magic.

* * *

The King and Queen both looked up past the long-winded Councilor's shoulder to see Merlin burst into the Council Chambers. Sir Elyan quietly stepped away from his post by the entrance to close the door behind him.

"Thanks," Merlin muttered earning a nod from his patient friend.

"Well, of all the disrespectful, disgraceful things! You dare barge into a Royal Council meeting, you Peasant!?" Lord Edmund objected. He looked as shocked as a man who'd already witnessed a younger Merlin barging in to disrupt King Uther's royal wedding-to a troll- or the multiple similar occasions, could be without looking dim. Then again, Merlin thought it was either very dim or disrespectful of Uther's old Councilors to insist upon placing themselves to either side of the royal seats rather than to sit facing them, utterly missing the point inherent in Arthur's choice of a round table.

"What is it now, _Mer_ lin?" The King asked, sounding simultaneously annoyed and relieved by the interruption. Queen Guinevere skillfully hid her smile before the Councilors, stubbornly lining each side of the roundtable, could notice. Edmund may have noticed from where he stood before them, but if so, he overlooked it.

"Iron!" Merlin blurted out, struggling to catch his breath. Upon reflection, perhaps running the whole way there was not the greatest idea he'd ever had.

"What?" Arthur countered, beginning to grow impatient.

"You wanted us to find Nemain's weakness... Well, a weakness. I found one- a bit. A little bit to be honest, but it's something."

"This is your mental affliction rearing its head again, isn't it?" Arthur mocked, taking out some of his pent-up aggravation on his idiot servant. "Try again, Merlin, and this time I suggest that you attempt to form an entire thought in your head before you start talking."

Merlin scowled, slightly insulted, but he did pause to consider this time before explaining "Iron. It's a rudimentary method, but pure iron has been used before to absorb low level magic. It won't stop the kind of enchantment that we saw evidence of back at the Inn, but it could still help us stop her."

"You're insane! Nobody has bothered with that since before the Great Purge. It is a childish, useless, half-measure, that has no use in battle," Lord Edmund scoffed addressing his response mostly toward the King and Queen as though Merlin's presence was inconsequential. "We need action, not some arcane parlor trick!"

Arthur held up a hand to silence him, looking expectantly to Merlin. "Continue."

Merlin stepped closer, bringing himself parallel with the old Advisor. Then as an afterthought, he rested a hand on the table to better face his rulers "He is right. I've read the old writings on it in the palace records before I came here, and iron was only ever considered to be useful in disrupting simple, rudimentary incantations," he admitted, ignoring the disapproving whispers being exchanged on his right.

"Then why mention it now?" Guinevere questioned, more to make her interest in her friend's premise apparent to the others present than to challenge him.

"The reason why it cannot be used to disrupt anything stronger is because the energy of the magic heats the metal while it's being absorbed. Any entity hiding in plain sight, that wields the kind of power we've been witnessing would turn any pure iron fixture in the area red hot," Merlin explained. "It wouldn't be enough to shift her disguise, or stop her from casting but maybe..."

"It could be used to expose her," Arthur concluded.

"If I may, your Majesty, that is hardly a solution to the greater problem," the Councilor seated directly to Merlin's left dismissed.

"No one is disputing that, Lord Ellis," King Arthur accepted. "It is still better than anything we had to work with before. If any of you have an even more useful idea to share regarding this matter, you are naturally, free to share it."

"I would advise, my King, that our efforts would be put to better use in slaying the creature," Lord Edmund replied, straightening his already pristine robes and puffing out his chest. The man was not covering his bruised ego well with all his huffing and posturing. Although, Merlin wasn't sure if that mattered anymore.

"Yes, we'll be sure to get to that the first moment that we figure out how that's possible." Elyan's muted voice carried from behind Merlin and the standing Advisor.

"Sir Elyan," Sir Leon rebuked from where he stood behind the King's shoulder.

"This is precisely the sort of thing that I wished to forewarn you of," Lord Edmund returned to the case he'd been pleading before the manservant's rude interruption. "There is a delicate balance to the order of things. Even within a Kingdom as great as yours, Sire. Your father understood that, which is why he took such care in arranging the Pendragon line of succession. As his son, you were raised for all your life within Camelot's boundaries to become his true heir. To then divert such an important legacy to the child of your current enemy-" he held up his hands in supplication, in response to Arthur's ferocious gaze, "-a foreigner in all but name, will blur the necessary boundaries that keep us all in our proper place. It would risk forever disrupting the balance of power within this Kingdom."

"My father often used a similar argument to dissuade me from granting a knighthood to those whom he considered too common born to be trusted with such a noble duty, yet, they have proven themselves to be some of the most loyal and honorable men ever to fight in service of Camelot. Why should Prince Mordred's past be any more relevant to his birthright than their common blood was to their merit?"

"A knight does not lead an entire kingdom. One lone knight will never determine the fate of his people."

Merlin could almost physically feel the heartfelt eye-roll that this Councilor's theatrics would have forced from Prince Mordred were he present to witness this.

"Neither will Mordred," Gwen responded diplomatically before her husband's irritation could get the better of him, "We both have the utmost faith in the integrity of our advisors and allies. We trust that you will remain willing to council Arthur's chosen heir as you have done for us."

"We will do so gladly, of course," Lord Edmund immediately confirmed.

"Then I can see little reason for you to fear," the Queen assured him. "Nevertheless, we will be sure to keep your words in mind as we see to Prince Mordred's further education."

* * *

Later that evening, Arthur trudged into his chambers and set the spiral-frame ball of pure iron in his hand aside on the table so that he could unbuckle his belt. He'd just set his sword down on the cabinet, silently bemoaning Merlin's albeit necessary absence when realization struck. He went stock still. His eyes retraced their path first, followed by his body's gradual turn back around to face the reddening ball. The metal glowed evermore vibrantly, beginning to coax tiny coils of smoke out of the wood searing beneath its touch. Arthur slowly reached for his sword without shifting his eyes from the warning glow.

"I know you're here. There is no point in hiding," he called in an authoritative voice.

Walker was suddenly beside him, slapping a hand down over Excalibur's blade. He tossed it aside, out of the King's reach like an unwanted toy.

"Whatever did you think you were going to do with that?" the intruder mused, grinning down at Arthur like a cat at a field mouse.

"Nothing that I didn't need to," he answered honestly, already dearly missing his weapon. "You're wearing the face of a dead man."

"I claimed him before you claimed his life. He'll only die once I let him," the Old God revealed.

"You have enchanted my nephew," Arthur further accused. "Why?"

"Are you always this diplomatic?" the Fae inside Walker quipped, with a devilish half smile. Arthur didn't answer, stone-faced, awaiting the creature's next move. "Let's have this talk in some more suitable surroundings." The Fae clamped a hand over the back of Arthur's neck, and with a disconcerting tug they were transported into the physician's quarters. Arthur turned just in time to see Merlin stop short in his bedroom doorway.

"What-" Nemain slammed the door shut in his face with a casual wave. Walker had taken on an otherworldly grace and delicacy that the real man had never displayed in life. "Your nephew." She gestured past Arthur to the motionless Prince laid out on the bed behind him. "You don't call him that only because he your sister's only son."

Arthur snapped his attention to the creature. "What do you want?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"I demand that you release him!"

That got only a chuckle that faded from masculine to feminine and back for the King's troubles. "You're in no position to make demands, Pendragon."

Arthur ground his teeth, fighting against the urge to charge. "You know what I want, I want Mordred returned to us unharmed, and I'd like to know why you've enchanted him."

The Fae eyed him with interest, stalking around the King in a half circle. "Your lot were the ones who sought to purge the Old Ways from the lands. You hunted down your nephew's people, and turned against all those who could do what you could not."

"You're talking about magic," Arthur observed. Nemain swooped closer so that they were almost brushing each other's noses.

"I talk of difference," she hissed out, making Walker's eyes deepen to blood red for a lingering moment. Then the Fae drew back to stand upright, precisely within the limit of Arthur's personal space. "Your dear nephew, Mordred is different. How much can you want him now?"

"The boy is a Druid," Arthur cast the challenge aside without a second thought. "That changes nothing. I am not my father, just as Mordred is not his mother. I won't ever condemn him for the circumstances of his birth."

"What of his mother? The High Priestess has claimed him for herself. She was the one who brought him into this world," the Fae tilted Walker's head in an exaggerated thinking pose. "Perhaps I shall return him to her tender care instead."

Arthur bared his teeth, placing himself between the Fae and her victim. Nemain smirked down at his tightly clenching fists.

"Do not mock me. I am still the King and I will not allow you to subject my heir to the Witch's madness! Now tell me what it is that you want so that we can finish this!"

The grin on Walker's face stretched to a daunting extent. "Have a care, Pendragon, your Guardian is not with you now."

Arthur's brows knit together in confusion as he tried to interpret the odd statement. Walker dove forward with inhuman grace to rest a hand on Mordred's forehead. Mordred's eye's opened.

"Mordred! Talk to me. Are you hurt?" Arthur questioned bending over his inscrutable ward.

"Sire..." Mordred's eyes scouted their familiar surroundings, unfocused. "Physician's quarters."

Arthur ventured a tight smile for the teen's sake. "Merlin and I brought you back here after we found you in the woods."

Mordred let out a breathy sigh that almost sounded regretful. "No..."

Arthur's smile was overtaken by worry. "Mordred?" His heir's piercing blue eyes locked into his.

"I'm not here."

Nemain pulled away the moment the last word left her hostage's lips, causing any semblance of life or awareness to vanish from the life-sized doll that was the enchanted teen. Arthur let out a wordless shout and grabbed the front of Walker's tunic slamming him back onto the table behind him.

"Oh, now that is a reaction," the Fae approved, sounding like she was enjoying his passion a bit too much. Merlin blasted his way out of his room, thankful that the King was too caught up in his own rage to notice. This seemed to sober Nemain ever so slightly. "Didn't you want to know what I want?"

"Name it," Arthur ground out, suspended on the verge of indulging a woefully violent impulse.

"You need to rethink your ways in regards to the Old Traditions."

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"You will learn to respect magic."

"And if he doesn't?" Merlin inquired on Arthur's behalf, wishing there was a way to draw on his magic without risk of melting down the iron fixtures nearby.

"Goodbye, Mordred," Nemain confirmed the expected ultimatum. "I'll give you the night to consider your options." And with that, Walker and his otherworldly possessor were gone. Arthur fell forward and caught himself on the tabletop. Then he looked up at Merlin with darkness in his eyes.

"I want that creature dead."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks foor reading this guys! I know some of you might have hoped for a bit of Morgana here, but she just didn't end up fitting into this one, sorry. Special thanks for this round go to _Linorien, NerdGirlAlert, Agana of the Night, SisterOfAnElvenWanabe,_ and _Guest_ for their kind reviews.


	25. Echoes of my Future Self

**Chapter 4: Echoes of my Future Self**

Morgana paced back and forth in her empty throne room. Nemain had yet to return for her answer to the impossible choice that Morgana had been left with upon their parting. The Fae were untrustworthy even to those who worshipped them. Morgana knew that she was not one of their people, even if her son Mordred was-case in point. No matter how powerful she was in human terms, the High Priestess was naught but an ant under Nemain's hovering boot, and the Fae would barely notice crushing her. The hairs rose on the back off Morgana's neck; she was abruptly, acutely aware that she was no longer alone in the room. She rotated on the ball of her foot to face that guise of a stolen wretch who'd once tried to poison her only child.

"You have made a decision," Nemain prompted, straight to business this time.

"My most trusted follower should be passing through Camelot's gates as we speak," Morgana somberly responded before her exterior toughened again like a well-formed shell. "It took a great deal of magic-"

Before Morgana could finish her objection, Nemain had vanished in a rush of dark, murky water that splashed all over the stone floor. Morgana retreated a startled step, pulling the ends of her long, blue-black gown up from the floor, but it still became sodden with the seaweed-smelling water. Morgana grimaced down at the puddle and shouted for Kara. This was becoming ridiculous.

* * *

Arthur hurled another lethal strike at his victim, lashing out with all his pent-up frustration and rage. The crude, straw-and-wooden dummy creaked, shaking from the force of the blow, but otherwise abstained from retribution. The King slashed across its front with his sword nonetheless, and again, and again, each movement becoming more violent as his mind fixated on Nemain's dark ultimatum. Her accusations lingered in his ears. Her judgment stuck to his skin like tar. He could not risk the security of the people within his kingdom for the sake of his nephew, except that losing Mordred as heir apparent was its own vital blow to the city's stability. Magic was a threat. Arthur had watched King Uther and his knights war against it for his entire life. He had seen the damage that it could do, and knew the horrors that would come trickling in if he left the city gates open to those wielding magic. If Arthur faltered in his already tenuous hold on Camelot's throne due to the slaying of his heir apparent within the heart of his own kingdom, war would be inevitable. Many lives were about to be put in jeopardy; there was no right answer. The King of Camelot had grown to love his nephew as his own...

 _"You hunted down your nephew's people, and turned against all those who could do what you could not,"_ Walker's stolen voice accused within the echoes of Arthur's memory. His mind had run through similar self-flagellating echoes of late. Memories of a camp full of screaming Druids, scattering into the trees as they fled the Prince of Camelot and his attacking knights, haunted the new King's mind. He'd tried to think back. His psyche snagged on the idea that he might have glimpsed little Mordred somewhere in the fleeing masses, or on the shameful fear that his nephew might have seen him. Arthur had trusted his father's most vehement lesson: magic cannot be tolerated- until his nephew followed him home. The memories that Mordred's return had resurrected shook Arthur's certainty enough to risk shattering.

 _"Your dear nephew, Mordred is different."_ Nemain's challenge mixed with Merlin's words to Gaius.

 _"So what? You could give him a stronger sleeping draft?"_ Isn't that exactly what they had done to Morgana, ignoring her nightmares until she became one herself?

" _Mordred is different."_

" _He needed someone to listen to him, not to be made to feel insane."_

Arthur's strikes became more frenzied and wild until he was more-or-less, simply thrashing the thing to pieces in a fit of rage. He had felt a similar defensive urge for Mordred's sake, too, berating his own father for his callous betrayal, lying to his own children, leaving his newborn grandson to suffer and die alone in a cold, uncompromising world. Arthur thought that, perhaps, his rebellion was already too late by then.

" _Whatever you might think of me, Arthur, everything that I have done, I have done for the good of Camelot."_ The words of his father's ghost sapped the strength right out of Arthur. He let his sword arm fall limply to his side, and he slumped forward against the training dummy. A loud, tormented shout tore out of him and he hung in place, defeated. There was no right choice. The King trudged over and slapped his back to the stone wall, sliding down to sit beside his manservant, and stared off into the middle distance.

"Would you like me to put that away for you?"

"Hmmm?" Arthur glanced down at the training sword laid across his lap. "No. I'd like to know what you think I should do. You heard Nemain's ultimatum."

"I'm just a servant; it's not my place to make those kinds of decisions." Merlin shifted uncomfortably, his shoulder brushing against his King's armor.

"If it was... If you found yourself faced with such a choice, what would you do? I don't know, maybe my father could have been wrong about these things. He wanted to kill Mordred on the spot for being a Druid. He was certain that allowing them passage through our kingdom would irreparably undermine our safety. Now, one of my most trusted knights- my heir apparent is a Druid. His people are free to come and go as they please and our kingdom is far better for it."

"That's true," Merlin supported, watching his friend's face carefully. He didn't want to make this decision for Arthur, let alone the whole of Camelot, but as dangerous as it was, he wanted to see how far they'd come. Arthur needed to understand the truth for himself, and truly, honestly to accept that magic was not the enemy he thought it was before peace could begin. The change could not come by force nor by fear, no matter whose life was at stake.

"I have seen magic used for good, as well as for terrible evil," Arthur ventured, his eyes still cast inward, fretting over his impossible situation. "My father always taught me that it was good for nothing. To accept magic was to poison your own mind with its corruption. Should I seriously consider the possibility that it could ever be a force for good?" Arthur looked at Merlin and the Guardian could see the deep conflict going on behind the Once and Future King's eyes.

"It sounds like you already are," Merlin pointed out.

"I can't leave Mordred in the Fae's clutches, but I cannot cripple the security of this entire kingdom for the sake of one life." Arthur leaned his head back against the stone wall and frowned up at the cold sky. "What if I'm wrong? I can hardly think of it. I cannot rule this Kingdom justly if I can't tell the difference between what is right and what is wrong."

"You can only rule based on what you know to be true. No one would ever have the chance to learn if they did not allow themselves to doubt," Merlin advised, choosing his words carefully. "You're a good man, Arthur. I know that whatever you decide, you will do what you believe is right for all of us."

"You still haven't shared your thoughts on the matter," Arthur noted. "Do you think that magic could be more than a threat to Camelot's people?"

Merlin smirked ironically, looking away. "I have seen magic used in just as many ways as you have. I'm sure that your nephew has seen even more, considering the Druid Peoples' acceptance and respect for magic."

"That's not the same as respecting or accepting the ways of the Old Religion back into my Kingdom, let alone magic..."

"You can only form an opinion about something based on your experience," Merlin thought aloud.

"Your point, Merlin?" Arthur challenged. His frown deepened when he saw the intensely thoughtful expression on his servant's face. Merlin looked him directly in the eye, determined.

"My father was a Dragonlord," he stated evenly.

"What?!"

"My father-"

"No. I heard you! I just-" Arthur shook his head clear of the many warring questions within. "How could- You never told me that."

"That was why I never knew him. King Uther wanted every dragon and every one of their kin dead. If he had been caught in our home..."

"You would both have been beheaded," Arthur slumped again, kneading his forehead and dragging the hand down to cover his own mouth. He hesitated to voice his next thought. "That edict was never rescinded."

" _You_ aren't going to behead me, are you?" Merlin almost managed to keep the fear out of his voice. Arthur let out a huff and failed to manage his usual haughty scowl.

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. Everyone knows that you're no sorcerer," he replied, then turned pensive. "Oh. I see your point." Arthur's expression of solemnity deepened. "Thank you, Merlin, for trusting me with this." He drifted off into his own thoughts and Merlin picked up his forgotten sword, returning it to the armory while he left his King to his contemplation.

* * *

Mordred was dreaming. He figured -deep within himself, where such doubts could still linger- that he must be dreaming, because this place he was living in was impossible. It was real to him, as many vivid dreams are. Consciously, he felt that this was his life. It was all familiar. He was the same eighteen-year-old technical prodigy, living in the same reasonably-sized flat in the city that he had rented for the past two years. None of this world - not its unnatural lights outside his thin glass windows at night, nor its cold metal forms that moved over the smooth, black roads, carting the abundant populous around at all hours in the absence of horses - seemed fanciful to him. That deeply hidden part of himself which still could doubt whispered that they should be unfamiliar. The world was alien or perhaps, more aptly put: Mordred was the alien. A knock cut through the silence of his shadowy living-space.

"I don't belong here… Do I?" Mordred furrows his brow in question. "Who am I talking to?"

Mordred got up from the latest overtly-intricate project that he'd been piecing together at his desk and wandered toward the door. The knock came again and he listened to the pattern. Mordred wandered into the kitchen on his left instead as if that had always been his intended destination.

"I know you're in there," an old man's voice remarked gruffly through the inconvenient barrier. "Open the bloody door, Young Man. I've been waiting for you long enough!"

Mordred grabbed one of the perfectly identical, neatly lined bottles of his preferred fruity-tasting, bubbly drink and stuck a straw in it. He drifted silently back towards the door and sipped the sweet ambrosia through the extended pause.

"I think that you can wait a little longer," Mordred responded, took another sip of delicious liquid, then amended. "Or more than a little. It's up to you, really."

"Listen Mor-"

Mordred turned to arch an eyebrow at the locked door, as if the strange man could see it through the wooden barrier.

"Mr. Grey," the vagrant amended as though he had. "This isn't simply going to go away once you ignore it long enough. It is a matter of destiny!" He scolded. "Now let me in so that we can get this identity crisis nonsense out of the way and get down to business!"

Mordred loudly sucked up the last of his drink through his straw and went to dispose of the container properly, ignoring the indignant huffing and puffing of the living relic on the other side of the portal. The figures in the small, asymmetrically-shaped mirror on the wall moved closer to each other as he passed by, approaching down the aisle of wooden cabinets to speak to each other in hushed voices. They were as oblivious to Mordred as he was to them in that transient moment. Mordred went back to his desk and idly tinkered with the framework of his latest project, deciding to wait the old man out. It wasn't as if there was anywhere that he needed to be...

* * *

"Merlin, I..." Percival looked back towards the outer door to the training ground, then down at the bench where he was seated. "I shouldn't even speak of it. It's better to forget that I said anything."

"No. You've been keeping quiet about something ever since we brought Mordred back. If you know something about what's happened to him," Merlin urged carefully, stepping closer. "If there is anything about Mordred's situation that you're afraid to mention, you should know that you can tell me. If not as a friend, then at least as a physician charged with treating him."

"It's nothing like that. It's daft."

"Tell me anyway."

Percy's expression was torn. There was a tempest of utter conflict raging behind his kind blue eyes. "Mordred's only been Prince for... well…. Most of the people of Camelot still don't know who he really is. Arthur never formally announced him, and he's a Druid. Even those who've heard of his birthright figure that it must be a rumor."

"They probably would think that," Merlin accepted, coming to sit next to him on the bench.

"And then there's Mordred's origin. He's an orphaned Druid who's been taken from us by one of the Druid's old Gods." Percival's eyes wandered back down to his hands, clasped tightly in his lap.

"Nemain, but I guess he told you..." Merlin inferred. Percival nodded distractedly.

"He doesn't have a lot of people that he can talk to about his culture, or his past. It's hard to find people that he can trust, considering..." A self-effacing smile twitched his lips for a fleeting moment. "He didn't really trust me at first either. I came across him in here while his mark was uncovered. I guess, after that he figured his choice was made for him."

"What does this have to do with his condition?"

"I just can't help thinking... He's the Druid son of a High Priestess: the Witch of the North, herself. They say that his mother started out seeming just as normal as you or I. You were worried that he might've inherited her night terrors. That's why you didn't speak of it, and honestly that's why I think I can even talk to you about this," Percy confided cautiously, keeping on high alert for the first sign of anyone who might venture close enough to overhear. "I can't help thinking, maybe Mordred's being heir to the throne might have nothing to do with the Fae taking him."

"Are you suggesting that he takes after Morgana? Because it almost sounds like you think he's a witch," Merlin tested, under the guise of humor, trying to give the gentle giant the benefit of the doubt. This man was his friend too, and he didn't like the idea of seeing him betray someone they both cared about because of magic.

"No. He'd never betray us, I feel that truth in my very bones. I'm saying what if... I don't know, maybe there's more to it than that. What if there's some knack? What if there is something he could've inherited from the Witch that lends itself to magic, or makes him more easily corrupted by it, or- What I'm thinking is, it would make more sense for a creature of magic to go after someone like that now, wouldn't it? A whole lot more sense than a godlike being coming after Mordred for the sake of his possible, unconfirmed, mostly unheard-of right to the throne."

"You may have a point, I suppose. Unfortunately, I don't see what we can do about it," Merlin replied, playing dumb. An unexpected hint of movement drew his gaze past Percival to a hanging axe. It was over-polished - probably George's doing- and was displaying a reflection that could rival a mirror. That was where he'd seen the movement, he realized; the reflection was wrong.

* * *

Mordred plopped down into his desk chair and looked at the intricate, finely faceted work of engineering genius that he was in the process of piecing together. Designs for the inexplicable invention papered the walls directly around his little corner desk. He'd drawn them himself by hand, taking great care to transcribe his brainchild onto the papers with perfect clarity. A beast of virtually uncountable tiny interacting parts. The old man was still occasionally talking to him, attempting to coax him into unlocking the door. There was something strangely familiar about him now, as his mind awoke more to the ridiculous fantasy that he found himself in.

Tap. Tap.

Mordred straightened in his desk chair and glanced towards the windows. It was raining out, but nothing other than the backlit, beading drops. He was too high up for there to be a visitor outside.

Tap!

Mordred jumped and turned to look at the mirror, only... it wasn't behaving like a mirror anymore.

"So this is where she put you."

"I know that voice..." Mordred stole a fleeting glance at the door before getting up and walking over to face the mirror. "Emrys!"

"Hello, Mordred," the guardian replied looking around the armory for any witnesses, or clues as to how he could fix this. "I don't suppose that this is any worse than hanging upside down from a treetop..."

"Am I?" Mordred verified, mildly intrigued.

Merlin looked quizzically at him.

"Well, this can't be real," Mordred explained. "You should see this place, it is so unrealistic-"

"I'm not entirely sure how to do this..." Merlin admitted, cutting Mordred's building monologue off at the source.

Mordred pressed a palm to the glass as if compelled. He frowned at the unilateral appendage.

"Er... That could work," Merlin pressed his hand over the mirror from his side, blocking out the dim light from behind him. Mordred heard his voice drop lower into an ancient, growling, hissing language that had clearly not originated from the world of men. The clairvoyant felt Emrys' hand close around his wrist, the golden scales felt smooth and metallic against his skin, warmed by an eternal fire hidden within. The Dragonlord guided the Prince out through the façade of the other life and into his own body for safe keeping. Back in the armory Emrys opened his eyes and they watched the false reflection dissolve leaving the fiery glow of the serpent's eyes in its wake. The golden embers receded, leaving more human azure in their place.

 **So... What have I missed?** Mordred's voice resonated pleasantly through the warlock's mind.

Regardless of the exposure to which he'd just subjected himself, Merlin found himself smiling.

* * *

 **A/N:** I know it's been a really long time guys. sorry, but I hope this chapter was worth the wait. This chapter ended up requiring a lot of patience to execute, considering the uniqe weirdness of Mordred's situation. The 'impossible world' he was waiting in, what did you think? Let me know? Anyway, thanks for readng my strangeness, and special thanks to my kind reviewers _SisterOfAnElvenWannabe, Agana of the Night, Linorien, Isis Ma'at, NerdGirlAlert,_ and an unsigned _Guest_. Your feedback really helps me a lot.


	26. Here there are dragons

**Chapter 5: Here there are dragons**

The guards at the gate exchanged wary, unsettled looks as a giant man whose size made Sir Percival's stature seem run-of-the-mill in comparison, strode into Camelot's lower town. His long, steel-grey locks hung thickly as combed sheep's wool around his tanned face and his grim, watchful expression spoke of a hard life with many battles past.

Melwas cast magic out in subtle, unnoticed tendrils over his surroundings in search of his goal. The High Priestess had sent him here for a simple reason, even if her secrecy complicated his task perhaps too much. She trusted him most of all. The aged knight felt the pull of very old, very wild magic nearby, suppressed nearly beyond description, but it was too powerful to evade his notice. He walked at a swifter pace now, moving from the lower town towards the palace itself. The guards he passed visibly tensed as he proceeded through the inner arch but he was giving them no overt excuse to act. A tall, thin man with pale skin and raven black hair was padding down the front stair from the palace entrance. This was his destination. Melwas recognized the face of his Priestess' enemy. He felt a cold satisfaction when the warlock's deep blue eyes landed on his. The servant's descent stopped just short of the bottom step. Despite his immense power, the guardian's reaction reminded Melwas of a startled doe pausing to scent the air and test a hunter's intentions.

 _ **"He's going to kill you. Go!"**_ A familiar voice suddenly echoed unspoken through both sorcerers' senses. Emrys turned and walked back up into the palace at a healthy, outwardly-unhurried pace, obeying the Prince's instruction. Melwas started to march forward, gradually gaining speed as he whispered a lethal spell under his breath. He felt the poison green flame intertwining his fingers- a smaller hand wrapped around his, diminishing the spell-fire with a disappointing, wet fizzle. Before Melwas could adjust he was yanked backwards with more strength than even a man of his size ought to wield. His back contacted a cold wall of liquid as if he were being plunged into chilly waters and he was rapidly encompassed by dark fluid.

"Wake up," a woman's voice ordered while his captor snapped her fingers over his face. The old knight opened his eyes and found that he was lying on his back on a cold, tiled floor. A beautiful woman with milky white skin, poppy red hair and eyes as crimson as her lips was leaning over him.

"I am in the world below..."

She rolled her eyes and sat upright, therefore leaving his field of vision.

"I mean you no disrespect, Milady. I- I was in Camelot to fulfill a vital task for my Priestess, and I did not expect ever to draw the eyes of a Fae."

"You should have, in retrospect. Your Priestess has deceived you," Nemain informed him, circling him as a cat circles an injured mouse.

"I do not understand your meaning..." Melwas denied.

"You were not sent to Camelot to challenge Lord Emrys- although it is cute that you think yourself capable of it. You were sent to fulfill a bargain," Nemain explained, then she paused to lean over his head and leer at him with too-sharp teeth. "You're payment."

"Not to question your honesty, Milady, but if that is so, then for what is my Priestess exchanging me?"

"Why, the Harbinger, of course." She grinned, "You look troubled, Sir Knight. I gather that you know of the Prince's destiny? You disapprove of a mother's choice. Is it not an honor to know that you are the one she trusts most? That was my stated price."

"I am the one that the Priestess trusted most and she has sold me off in exchange for the boy who would seal our fate! That is not a purpose of which I can be proud!" Melwas pushed himself up off the floor and began to pace back and forth across the intricate pattern. The Fae looked gleeful in response to his passionate refusal.

"Stings, doesn't it? I imagine that this is the point at which one might assure you that it isn't personal..."

Melwas sat up and regarded the smirking being with an unamused countenance. She scrunched up her nose in shallow sympathy.

"I know." She offered him her hand. He kissed it reverently. She pulled him to his feet. "Don't act so glum. I'm not done with them. You may yet have the chance to see your Lady again. No doubt you would relish it." The smile the Fae finished her reassurance with was sharper and deadlier than Excaliber's blade. Melwas eyed it grimly, realizing that before this ancient's plot was finished more blood was sure to be shed.

* * *

Merlin collected the tray of dirty dishes from the King's chambers and returned it to the kitchens to be cleaned. It was only a little distracting now to walk out the door, leaving Mordred perched on the King's vacated seat, only to pass Mordred who was leaning against the doorframe on the other side. Merlin felt himself being unceasingly observed, feeling pursued as he traversed the halls and descended the stairs without sight of the Prince. Merlin rounded the next corner and-

"You may not be able to leave me behind, Emrys, but I am not stalking you," Mordred reminded him as if he had remarked upon the sensation aloud. He fell into step with the warlock plucking Arthur's spoon up off the tray and attempting to balance it on his finger as they walked. "I am in your head."

"I know. It's strange," Merlin replied, watching the young royal's endeavor disapprovingly. "You are far too relaxed about this," he noted as he followed the teen's phantom into the kitchens. Mordred tossed the spoon up into the air and it flew back into its original placement on the tray as if he had never moved it.

"Because I am not really here," Mordred nodded to their discomfited audience bent over a nearby counter. "You're talking to yourself."

Merlin swallowed, flashing the kitchen maid who was staring at him an apologetic half-smile in an attempt to play his odd behavior off as tiredness. He made his exit as quickly as he could manage. When he was nearly back to the Royal Quarters, an unexpected, familiar figure stepped forward to cut him off at the top of the stairs.

"Oh. Hello, George..." Merlin quirked his brows in question. Mordred was crossing the landing behind his ex-servant, surveying him with a look of bored resignation.

"Merlin," George responded, sounding even more tightly strung than usual. "I require your advice."

"My advice. Sure, what can I help you with?"

"As you may have heard, I have been tasked with attending to the Prince's needs upon his return," George prefaced.

"Oh, again," Mordred intoned, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head fall back against the wall he was leaning on. "I really must stop getting incapacitated."

"So, are you going to be his manservant after all," Merlin replied, mildly surprised, causing his mental guest to facepalm. "I thought..." Mordred focused more pointedly on his host. "It's not important."

"He may choose me for the task," George responded noncommittally.

"He turned down the Queen's offer? He doesn't approve of me," Mordred noted, tucking his hands behind his back. Merlin frowned slightly, wanting to reassure him, but not wanting to look insane.

"It would be an honor to hold such a position within the royal household," George stated needlessly, sounding as though he were reminding himself.

"Well, there's no rush, but if you still feel that you need my help..."

"I have no problem with promptness, nor should you," George reminded him. "I am however, aware that you have known his Highness for some time."

"Since he was a child," Merlin confirmed with a shrug.

George drew himself up into a somehow even more stick-straight posture. "I see. Then, I expect that you will therefore be familiar with his personal tastes."

"My 'personal tastes'," Mordred echoed blandly. "Tell me that he isn't the one looking after Bran."

"He isn't." Merlin muttered.

"I beg your pardon?" George questioned.

"Mordred is a very private person," Merlin covered, then paused to eye the subject of their discussion. "He doesn't really talk about his preferences, other than the necessities. Make sure that everything he actually needs to take care of himself is easily available, so that he can do as much as possible for himself and he'll be happy."

"That tells me little and hardly suits my purpose."

"Mordred has been a slave for years. He lived on the run for his life before that. He isn't going to need a manservant anticipating his desires or doing everything for him," Merlin pointed out. "What he's going to need is someone to stand at his side..."

Mordred narrowed his eyes at the Guardian in response to his unusual train of thought.

"I'm not sure that I grasp your meaning," George admitted. Merlin patted his arm.

"I wouldn't worry about it. Just focus on utility." Merlin advised, stepping past on his way to his own charge's quarters, he saw Mordred nod once in agreement. "I know he'll approve of that, utility over appearance."

Merlin walked into Arthur's chambers and turned back, momentarily disoriented once again when Mordred was suddenly no longer following a couple of steps behind him. He shook his head and closed the door before walking over to the King's desk. Mordred was bent over with his right hand resting flat on the dark wood, appearing to read over his Uncle's shoulder.

"Merlin, what took you so long?" Arthur inquired, sounding only tangentially interested. Mordred stole a look at the other magic user through his eyelashes before leaning down closer to the ledger so that his face was obscured by his dark curls.

"George wanted to talk," Merlin explained, tidying up some scattered items from Arthur's morning activities, and noticing that his boot had a hole in it again.

"Mmmm. I've been thinking about what you told me yesterday on the training ground," Arthur reflected.

Merlin tensed, turning slowly to face his King.

"When we were in Morgana's mines and that Dragon rushed past us...You weren't afraid of it at all, were you?"

Upon hearing Arthur's words Mordred straightened to watch Merlin with unbridled interest.

"Not for my own safety, at least not that she would burn me."

"She?" Arthur echoed surprised. "How could you know that?"

"I just do."

"Because you're a Dragonlord?" Arthur guessed.

Merlin nodded.

"You told him that?" Mordred wondered. "With the laws as they are you could have been killed! You still could be killed for it."

"It is a trait that's passed from father to son," Arthur explained, gesturing to the set of tomes spread out over his desk. "I've been looking at the laws that my father and his council passed during the Purge. I thought that if I read over the details I might come to understand their thinking." The King ran a hand over the well-kept pages of the ledger before him.

"What's that?" Merlin asked, stepping up to the other side of the table opposite Mordred.

"It's a list of the condemned. All these names are of people who were condemned to death for crimes involving magic." Arthur pointed from the column of names to one made up of numbers. "Their ages. Their crimes. Their punishments." He paused, his eyes scanning over the page. "Mordred's father is in here somewhere. The trouble is, I'm not certain that would recognize him. Quite a few of these are children. Whole families. I suppose that your father's name is probably in here too, or maybe not. I doubt that every camp was tallied, even if it were possible. You both could have been." Arthur pushed back his seat and paced around the desk. "If only a few things had happened differently Guinevere could've..."

"You aren't responsible for your father's sins," Merlin reminded him. "You are a good man, Arthur."

"It isn't that simple anymore, is it? The war is over, or we say it is. I know you to be a good man, too, as is Mordred, and yet under our laws you would both have been beheaded. According the current laws you still could-" Arthur bit back his frustration slapping the old ledger shut. "I want to believe that I would have stopped it. I know that you are no sorcerer. I know that Druids aren't our enemies, but I don't know that I would have done what is right, because once I nearly let Mordred die! If I did not know you as I do now- I have murdered Mordred's people in my father's name and I felt sure that I was serving justice!" Arthur paced away to lean over the fireplace lost for a moment in his own thoughts.

"Arthur?"

"I cannot bow to Nemain's will. She is too great a threat to our people for me to back down, but she wasn't wrong. Camelot's laws are due for revision," Arthur said, sounding utterly exhausted. "I cannot I think myself any better than Nemain, or Morgana, or any other creature of magic who aims to bring my Kingdom to ruin if I continue to stain my hands with the blood of innocents through mere lack of care and consideration."

"What are you going to do?" Merlin inquired, feeling dread pool in his gut.

"Have you and Gaius found anything that we can use to defeat her?" Arthur asked, his eyes filled with desperation and the fear that Merlin dreaded.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I don't think there is any way to fight her off, certainly not without powerful magic," Merlin admitted. He couldn't help feeling personally responsible for his friend's distress as he reported the honest truth. "Her kind are too far beyond human reckoning for even the Druids to know much more than to keep out of her way."

Arthur nodded, having expected that reply. "I need to see my nephew again, before Nemain returns. I need to ask his forgiveness." Arthur strode out of his quarters without looking back, headed for the Physicians' Quarters.

The two mages stared at each other for moment, in tense silence.

"Am I to understand that I am to die for the sake of political strategy?"

"Mordred. I told you I am not going to stand by and let you die," Merlin reassured him.

"I am aware," Mordred replied, looking upon closer inspection, to be surprisingly undaunted by his own peril. "The King doesn't know that."

Merlin's lips pressed into an unhappy line across his face and he jogged out after their ruler.

* * *

Arthur sat beside his nephew's bed and watched his pale, expressionless face. In this enchanted repose, he reminded Arthur too much of the stone likenesses carved atop his dead relatives' final resting places in the Royal crypt beneath them. It was a stark and unwelcome reminder of things to come.

"Mordred," he paused to rally himself. "My nephew. I never told you how long I tried to find you. Yet still it was not nearly long enough. I don't know if you can hear me, but I hope that at least you will understand that, despite my failures, I always intended to give you a better future. It was never only about your birthright..." Arthur paused, struggling against his emotions. "You were meant to be my legacy, but far more than that, Mordred Pendragon, you are my family. No matter what comes to pass I want you to know that I am so very proud of you." From the doorway Mordred's unseen specter watched the King place a final kiss on his head and brush away a stray tear. "Forgive me for what I am about to do."

"I see that you have come to a decision, Your Majesty," Walker's voice observed, preceding the appearance of its speaker a few paces behind Arthur's back. Merlin preemptively stepped in through the outer door nearly passing through Mordred in his haste. The door slammed behind him, causing both mages to flinch at the loud noise. The Fae in Walker winked at Merlin. Arthur closed his eyes for a moment to tune out the pointless distraction, before standing and turning to face his challenger.

"I have."

"And what is your decision, Pendragon?" Nemain goaded, enjoying his torment. The King kept his face a grim mask.

"I would prefer you did not trap my servant here for this. He has tasks of his own to grapple with," Arthur negotiated.

"Nice try, but the dragon stays," Nemain dismissed. "He has possession of something that may very well become my property in a moment. I wouldn't want to bother with a needless chase." She turned to look Mordred's disembodied person in the eyes, glancing sidelong at the minor upward twitch of his brows. Arthur looked from her to Merlin with mild skepticism, then decided it wasn't worth pursuing and continued with the more pressing issue.

"I cannot in good conscience allow an enemy of Camelot to dictate changes to the laws intended to safeguard the citizens of my kingdom. No matter the personal cost," Arthur stated with resignation.

"Hmmm, well then I-" Nemain started forward to collect her price but Arthur stepped closer and held a hand out to block her approach.

"I am not finished yet." He lowered his hands once Nemain's posture relaxed. "There may have been some truth to what you said. The edicts passed by my father and his council led to the deaths of many. It is not just his hands that have been stained by the blood of innocents who were condemned by a coincidence of their birth. Our very line has been tainted."

Nemain cocked her head as if to ask, "So what?"

"However, my nephew is perhaps the only one of us who is innocent of that sin," Arthur continued forcefully. "He is also my heir apparent according to the rules of succession. He may not yet have been publicly announced as my heir apparent, but the fact remains: should anything happen to me by the laws of this kingdom, Mordred will take the throne."

Mordred pushed off the wall, horrified. "No!" As much as he wanted to resist this, hearing the elder clairvoyant's warning echoing through his shocked consciousness, he was helpless, unable to make himself heard. "Emrys, do something!"

"If you truly believe, as you said, that this is all for the sake of learning to respect magic… If you truly desire justice, then Mordred is the King who could enact the necessary changes with a fair and measured hand. I have the utmost faith that he will prove to be the best of us, and I will not object if you choose to claim a sacrifice. I only ask that you choose to punish those of us who are guilty." Arthur stared into the Old God's crimson eyes, unblinking, steadfast in the righteousness of his compromise.

"Arthur!" Merlin protested stepping forward, but Arthur held up a hand to stop him.

"You pose a convincing argument," Nemain considered, still locked in a silent standoff with the Once and Future King. A grin stretched across her stolen face. "You are absolutely right."

Those were the last words that Prince Mordred heard before his world was plunged into darkness.

* * *

Mordred woke with a gasp and surged upright. "Arthur!"

"Oh, my goodness!" Gwen hurried over to his bedside and caught him by the shoulders before he could do more than push back the covers. "Shh. Be still. You're home now. You're safe," She soothed, while pushing him back against the ridiculously soft feather pillows. She even pulled the blankets back over him.

"Where is my Uncle?"

"Mordred, please try to relax. I know that you have been through quite an ordeal." Gwen turned to beckon George closer and Mordred realized that he was in a room he didn't recognize. "Inform Gaius that the Prince has awoken."

Mordred looked around the spacious quarters. They weren't quite as large or luxurious as the Royal Quarters, but they were close. An ornately carved screen of dark-stained wood split the room into two sections. The furs on his bed were of the softest, finest black fur and the dark blue-green draping around his bed was likely silk by the look of it. They perfectly matched the indigo, green and violet in the tapestries and curtains adorning the walls and large windows. There was silver detailing on the side table and shelf on either side of his four-poster bed. The cabinet across from him sported gold filigree.

"I hope you like your new chambers. I had your things moved in for you when you were first returned. I knew that you would make it," Gwen related to him, worrying a bundle of spring green fabric in her lap.

"It is- Thank you, your Majesty," Mordred remembered himself at the last minute, returning to the formalities more appropriate for a conversation with one's Queen. "I know that I have not made things easy for you of late."

"Now don't start," Gwen corrected, a little teary-eyed. "We haven't gone through all this trouble to start speaking to each other as if we were strangers. We've had our troubles, all of us, but we are going to be stronger for it. There is no need for anyone to take the blame."

Mordred scrutinized her face in search of clues, still feeling a dark pit of worry in his stomach. "What of the King?"

In the next second the door opened and Gaius shuffled in, followed closely by Merlin and Percival-oddly enough- and last but not least...

"Sire, I wondered when I would see you again," Mordred remarked to his Uncle as if he hadn't been feeling sick with trepidation seconds prior.

"Look this way, please, your Highness," Gaius prompted, cupping a hand under the teen's chin and studying his eyes.

"I still haven't agreed to accept that title," Mordred stated.

"Luckily, that isn't how it works," Arthur responded patiently. "You were born a prince whether you want it or not."

"I was born a Druid bastard," Mordred responded while Gaius checked his reflexes. "I doubt that your council will be at all willing to support that."

"Don't say such things," Guinevere chastened him. "The council will support our decision. Arthur is right; you belong with us. He wasn't always so happy to be prince either, but you will grow into your duties. It isn't as horrible as you fear."

"So you've told me." Mordred turned to look at his Uncle. "With respect, Sire. I may be your Prince and your ward, but I draw the line at succession. You'd best not die before you find an alternative lest I join you instead."

"This is no time to joke about dying, you've already threatened that enough," Arthur rebuked.

"I hardly meant that in jest."

"We missed you, Mate," Percival put in bashfully. "I can't say I know how you're feeling now. I just want you to know that as things are, I couldn't ask for a better Prince to lead us, and I doubt that I'm the only Knight at the 'Table who feels that way."

Mordred calmed a little in response to his friend's words. He couldn't really argue with him. Even so, he still knew that he was no leader. He looked up at Emrys' watchful eyes waiting to see his reaction and surrendered to the inevitable. He was a Prince by blood, but he was not the leader. That didn't mean he couldn't be a useful proxy and a shield for the rightful King. He could be the Queen's secret weapon, and his Uncle's, too- even if Arthur didn't know it.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hey guys, I know that this was an inexcusably tardy update, and I do want to take this chance to reassure you that I am still writing this story;my progress has simply slowed of late. Thank you all for bearing with me, and special thanks to my precious reviewers _Agana of the Night, Teddy0407, NerdGirlAlert, SisterOfAnElvenWannabe, Linorien,_ and _TeapotsAndKittens_ for their consideration and encouragement. I do this for you guys.


	27. This is allegory, this flesh

**Chapter 6: This is allegory, this flesh**

Mordred stepped toward the dais, feeling the eyes of the gathered public lingering on the golden triskelion that Guinevere had hand embroidered so proudly onto the back of his emerald green jacket. A well-meaning declaration of the Crown's acceptance of his Druid origins. It didn't stop the pressure of so many wary and suspicious minds from stifling him in his walk down the hushed aisle of the Royal Court. He could not help but envy the King standing on the dais ahead of him for his obliviousness. It was rare that Mordred found himself wondering what his life might've been had he not been born a Clairvoyant. He supposed he'd likely have been raised as his Uncle had, so perhaps that wasn't something to feel wistful about.

The soon-to-be Crowned Prince looked down at his brand new boots with their many silver buckles, so polished that they shone like stars against their black leather straps. His midnight leather leggings were so smooth and slick-looking that they reminded him of the dark waters of the nether realm from which his Uncle so recently reclaimed him. This was not the man Mordred was, although it seemed this was the man he must now become. He knelt just short of the top step and the King performed his part in the ceremony. His memorized words floated through Mordred's ears without any meaningful form as the Prince stole a glance at Emrys. The manservant shot him a warning look. Mordred rested his gaze on the gaudy gold and ruby fastening on the King's scarlet cloak... Then came his time to rise.

With the simple circle of metal - a _crown_ set on his head - Mordred feels an utter fool. The public clap politely and although he understands that many of them are sincere in their aplause, he cannot help but feel amiss. This was never his life. Arthur has noticed his nephew's discomfort. He pulls him into a steadying hug, then whispers...

"Why?"

Mordred, confused, pulls away, "Why- _what_?!"

Arthur's lips are stained with blood.

"No..." Mordred steps back, in shock and looks down at his hands to see them coated in the King's blood.

"Why did you do it?" The blood burbles up out of Arthur's choking mouth as he pleads for an answer. Mordred stares at the sword hilt sticking out of his Uncle's chest and yanks his traitorous hand away.

"I didn't... I don't understand!" Mordred turns to stumble down the steps and Emrys catches him by the arms, holding him pinned under his fiery golden glare as the knights close in on their betrayer.

"No, this can't be-" Mordred's struggling is as futile as his attempt at righteousness.

 _I_ _t i_ _s your destiny._ Emrys' judgment echoes through his head, wreaking havoc on his perception.

"NOOO!" Bright light overwhelmed Mordred's vision. The grabbing hands of the many knights and courtiers vanished as if they'd never been there. Mordred jolted upright in his bed and snapped his head away from the too-intense sunlight shining in through the parted curtains. They _had_ never been. It was only another night terror.

"Good morning, your Highness," George said primly, setting out his courtly attire for him on the foot of the bed. Mordred stared at him for a moment while his grasp on reality reasserted itself. He had been crowned weeks ago. It had not exactly been uneventful, but no one had been harmed either. Mordred waved off George's attempts to hand him a sedative. Gaius had prescribed the 'calming elixer' to him as soon as the young Prince was out of the woods. Emrys' mind had readily informed Mordred of the true nature of his medicine. A concoction of valerian, chamomile, and lavender strong enough to keep him unerringly docile. The guardian had been so disapproving of his mentor's decision that he hadn't even minded Mordred's mental intrusion. Since then Mordred had been in an uphill battle both to combat his state of anxiety and to avoid being drugged.

"I don't need it," he said shortly, when rather than retreating, his temporary manservant poured out a dose straight into his goblet of morning juice.

"Is there anything else you require of me, Sire." The persistent wretch turned back around to face his Prince and Mordred forced a thin smile, moving to dress himself in his new self-imposed uniform.

"No, thank you, George. That will be all."

George bowed deeply to him before leaving. Mordred imediately crossed over and poured his tainted drink out the open window.

* * *

In open court that same morning, the King himself was having some trouble adjusting to his nephew's ascension into nobility. Mordred sat motionless as a marble statue on his new throne to Arthur's right. The pale sapphires that were Prince Mordred's eyes glowed from within the doll-like mask of his ivory and rose complexion, highlighted intensely by the vivid royal blue of his tunic. The rough, semi-utilitarian cut of his charcoal grey leather coat and sleek black, oiled leather leggings contrasted starkly with the warm ruby reds, browns and gold preferred by most of Camelot's nobililty. It all combined into a haunting vision of stark, monocromatic, almost _otherworldly_ perfection; Mordred was becoming a masculine echo of the beauty his mother had once been before Arthur had lost her to madness. The effect at times toyed with the King's mind, altering his awareness. For instance, it had taken far too long for him to notice what Sir Leon, and worse, a number of Royal Council members had been respectfully holding their tongue about for weeks. Unlike his opinionated, outspoken mother at his age, Prince Mordred hadn't uttered a single word, not in council chambers, not in open court, not in front of the public. He always watched those around him. On a few occasions he had responded with a gesture or a passing expression of acceptance or skepticism. Never a word. Arthur had been trying to pin down the source of his nephew's self-imposed muteness for the past couple of days and he was fairly certain that he could trace it back to Queen Guinevere's departure to visit her father's resting place. Before then, both she and Arthur been tutoring Mordred in private concerning the duties and comportment of a member of the Royal Family. Lord Geoffrey had been instructing him as well, just as he had Arthur himself, but the King had not yet found time to ask his old teacher about Mordred's progress.

Perhaps after this audience was over he might get the old man alone. Arthur felt it was high time that he dealt with the issue. The local elite had turned out in droves to air their grievances in the recent open court Arthur had been holding weekly since Prince Mordred's crowning. There were still a number of poorer citzens at each event as well, but so far they had proven a notable minority. Arthur looked from the successful merchant who continued to blather on about the sudden dip in consumer traffic of late, to his enragingly unresponsive heir.

"And what precisely is the problem that you wish to bring to our attention, Lendelle?" Arthur prompted at long last. "Doubtless, you know that I cannot simply decree that your patrons more frequently make use of your business."

"As it should be, your Majesty. No, I would not waste your time with such foolish fancy," the silks and spice merchant twittered like a timid songbird. "I percieve what my patrons need by far is more reassurance than comand. There is an atmosphere about the lower town which does not tend itself much towards indulgence, if it please your Majesty. There are too many who misdoubt whether the marketplace will continue secure. It is uncertain whether our shops can remain safe in our present circumstance." The merchant's gaze wandered curiously to the Prince, lingering briefly, Arthur's eyes followed suit. Mordred finally reacted, a mere shift of his focus from their subject to meet his Uncle's eye. It was a minute movement, yet very noticeable in contrast with his usual inscrutable stillness. His brows twitched slightly in wry expectation and his calm was infectious.

"There is nothing for you or any of your patrons to be concerned about," Arthur assured their audience, breaking the strange moment before it could stretch. "I understand that the troubling incidents that occured in the lower town and the threat of magical attack that followed were taxing on all the citizens of Camelot. But they are in the past. You can take heart in the fact that the Knights have reported no suspicious movement on our border for the past month. The lower town will remain perfectly secure."

The next two men to step forward had obnoxiously similar grievances to Lendelle the merchant's, and the brothel keeper looked easily as familiar as his complaints sounded. Arthur caught sight of Merlin shooting a rather expressive glance towards the stoic Prince from his stance leaning against the nearest pillar. There was no overt reaction, naturally, but amusement shimmered in his eyes for an instant. The King couldn't help feeling that his people were being misreprestented somehow. Open Court in Camelot was rarely like this in his experience. At long last an older woman limped forward who looked like she actually had problems worth complaining about. Arthur internally kicked himself for his own unspoken cattishness. Mordred's eyes flickered narrowly towards his King's face, almost as if he had overheard the unbecoming thought. Arthur buried the idea, it seemed he really was getting paranoid.

"My King," the old woman acknowledged deferentially, lowering her achy old bones to kneel before them. "Prince Mordred," she continued with her head bowed and Arthur realised that she was the first of his subjects to acknowledge directly the Crowned Prince. "It is an honour to have this chance to speak to you myself. I have come to you to plead for sanctuary. I may not have been born a citizen of Camelot, and I doubt how welcome I would have been in your Court in the recent past, yet I have spent the last seven years making this kingdom my home."

One of Arthur's oldest advisors took a stern step forward. "Sire!"

Arthur held up a hand to still him. "What is your name?"

"I am Derryth, your Majesty."

"Derryth, you have lived in this kingdom for seven years without incident?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

Arthur gave the protesting Councilor a qwelling look and watched him retreat to the safety of the crowd. Then the king sat forward slightly to address his subject. "Why are you in need of sanctuary now?"

"I am a member of a ravaged Druid clan, many of my people were killed during the Purge. The rest of us scattered to the whims of fate, until recently..." Derryth looked down at her shaking hands, gathering her resolve. "I have found a new home here. I made peace with the loss I've suffered, yet recently I have heard whispers of others who could not. Many of my kin joined with the Saxon Horde, more of them than I would ever have liked to believe. I have chosen to remain under your rule, regardless, and so they have judged me a traitor."

Arthur could feel his nephew tensing up and placed a hand on his forearm in case he let his instinct to flee get the better of him.

"Two nights ago, I woke to find a man in my house! I tried to make him leave, but he was too strong. He will not let me be. His fellows follow me when I leave, and when I return home he punishes me!" The Druid woman pushed up the sleeves of her tunic to show her skin was marred with dark bruises. She pushed her hair away from her neck to show the flat, squared brand that had warped her Druid mark. "He brings his friends into my home and they lay waste to all that I own as if it is nothing. They say that _I_ am nothing. I am not the first Druid-born on the edge of town to be tormented by these people! Others were chased away weeks ago, but I _chose_ this kingdom as my home. There is no other place for me to run to. Please Sire, I am begging for your mercy!"

"Of course we will help you," Arthur turned to address his manservant and saw that Merlin was already moving to help the old woman to her feet. "Merlin, take her to Gaius and make sure that her injuries are seen to. She will remain within the safety of the palace until this matter is resolved."

"Yes, Sire."

"Lord Geoffrey?" Arthur half inquired, half prompted.

"If it would please your Majesty, I believe that Patrick and Lord Willem could stand to wait until tomorrow."

"An excellent idea, Geoffrey. You are dismissed," Arthur instructed, standing and starting forward. The Prince did not immediately follow suit, his attention lingering in Merlin's wake. "Mordred, Sir Leon, accompany me." Arthur prompted.

His nephew stood and padded soundlessly after his King and their First Knight, ignoring the watchful eyes of Councilors.

* * *

George, the Prince's temporary servant shut the door to the Royal Quarters in their wake with himself on the other side. Arthur strode over to the head of his table then turned on the other two noblemen.

"Why is this the first that I am hearing of this?"

"I do not know, Sire. This is the first I have heard of it as well," Sir Leon replied, his brow crinkling in consternation while Mordred calmly settled into the chair opposite Arthur. "I would have thought that at least a witness would have spoken out about such behavior by now. Even on the edge of town, knights are usually alerted to any such threats."

"To citizens, perhaps," Mordred amended softly. Both older men turned to face him. "These men attack Druids," he clarified.

"That makes no difference. Druids are welcome in Camelot. I rescinded my father's ban," Arthur pointed out. "You're my heir and you're a Druid."

Mordred looked at him flatly for an extended interval before continuing unfettered. "Druids are allowed free passage through Camelot according to the law. That simply means that our presence must be tolerated, not apreciated. Were I in Derryth's position, I doubt that I would have spoken out."

"If you'll forgive my presumption, Sire," Leon prefaced, continuing smoothly in response to Mordred's expectant look. "You rarely speak as things are."

There was an awkward pause in the conversation. Then Arthur ventured to ask the unspoken question.

"That wouldn't have anything to do with your Druid origin...?"

"Very little, your Majesty," Mordred tactfully minimized, resting his folded hands on the table in front on of him. "I believe that we are digressing from the relevant issue. If there is a band of criminals targeting Druids in Camelot, it could re-ignite the tensions instigated by Lord Rhidian and his co-conspirators, especially taking into account that you have recently placed a Druid in line to inherit the throne."

"The people of Camelot are not all as hateful as my Father," Arthur defended, then leaned forward with his hands planted on either side of his end of the table. "Although, you are right: we do need to deal with this problem as swiftly as possible." He headed around the table gesturing for his heir to join him, on his way out of the Royal Chambers. "We are still returning this kingdom to a stable standing. Sir Leon, you should take a couple of knights to investigate the area."

"Yes, Sire." Leon took his leave without furthur prompting.

"Shall I accompany him?" Mordred suggested, walking in step with Arthur.

"Not yet. I'd like to keep you close at hand until Guinevere has returned. You may need to take the lead in my stead once she has," Arthur responded, briskly making his way towards the Physicians' Chambers. The King took a moment to size up his obstinate heir. "There is something else that's been troubling you."

Mordred stood up straighter, falling just short of standing at attention despite being casually close. Instead he swung the door open, pausing to allow Arthur in past him before he shut it a tad too firmly in their wake.

Merlin looked up from his silent conversation with his patient, then ventured out of his room to join them. "She needs to rest a while before any further questioning," he reported, carrying a cup and a few medicine bottles back out with him.

"How long will that be?" Arthur asked.

"At least a few hours," Merlin clarified. "Gaius is going to monitor her condition." He shuffled the bottles and instruments strewn over the table. "Excuse me, I just need to put some of these away..."

The two Royals turned their attention back to one another.

"You know that you can talk to me." Arthur ignored the stubborn glint in Mordred's luminous blue eyes, explaining, "Gaius told me that you've been having trouble sleeping, and Sir Leon was right; you have been quiet."

Mordred studied him for a long moment, then finally deigned to speak. "I have no intention of being subjected to more treatments, well-intentioned as they may be."

"I was not aware that you were receiving any medicine."

Merlin popped back into sight from behind a cupboard to chime in. "Yes, Gaius mixed a sedative for him." He didn't sound very happy about it.

"A sedative?" Arthur's brow furrowed while he reassessed his nephews' subdued countenance.

"Enough to dull his senses," Merlin called back from the other side of a distant pillar.

"George insists upon administering it daily," Mordred added, perhaps it was just the psychological suggestion that caused him to slur 'administering' in a vaguely intoxicated manner. He genuinely hadn't intended to.

"I see," Arthur said thoughtfully.

"I want him gone," Mordred concluded.

"I understand the sentiment, truly, I do. However, we still haven't found another manservant to replace him with," Arthur explained, genuinely apologetic. "You'll need him until we do." He really wished that there was someone better suited to attend to Mordred's needs while he adjusted to his new responsibilities. The last thing that he needed was to have his nephew driven out of his kingdom through the same ill-handled treatment that had sent his mother into madness. Anxiety for someone in Mordred's situation was to be expected, not treated like an illness. "I'll talk to George."

Merlin stepped towards them preparing to speak, with a pensive look on his face. Whatever he was about to say, however, was superseded by a loud commotion from the corridor outside. "What in the world..."

* * *

"So, did I hear Lord Geoffrey correctly? Is Patrick getting an audience with the King?" Sir Wallace inquired.

"He's been trying. The traitor wasn't banished outright in light of his willingness to cooperate, choosing his Kingdom over his father and all that," Sir Leon replied as they descended the front steps of the palace to mount their horses. "Honestly, I think that when King Arthur told him that he could stay on as a stableboy he was expecting that the Lord's coddled son would cut his losses."

"Is that what the traitor wants to discuss?"

"Who cares?" Sir Mortimer chimed in from behind them.

"He betrayed the trust of his fellows, aided his treasonous father," Leon said as he prepared to mount his chestnut brown mare. "He's not going to have the King's ear again, nor should he."

Their conversation was chased from their minds by a shout from a group of nearing guards. The patrol had come back carrying three unconscious knights draped over the backs of their horses. All of them had gone as pale as the dead. Leon ran over to intercept them.

"What happened?!"

"I don't know, My Lord. We found them lying in a clearing just a few miles short of the border. It looks like they've been bitten by snakes, but I saw no sign of the creatures themselves."

"And the Queen? Where is she?"

The Guard gravely shook his head.

Leon set his jaw and turned back to the younger knights. "Get word to Gaius," he ordered Sir Wallace, who nodded and dashed away. "Come on, let's get them inside," he told the others, carefully pulling Elyan's prone form down and balancing him across his shoulders.

* * *

It took half an hour before Merlin and Gaius pulled out of their quiet deliberation over the three prone Knights of the Round Table. Merlin was the one to address the King's questions.

"What can you tell us?" Arthur demanded the moment that Merlin stepped up to face him, but he was still watching Gaius treat his fallen friends.

"Eric was right. It does appear that they were set upon by snakes. They've sustained some nasty bumps and bruises as well, likely from being thrown from their mounts, but we're confident that we can treat it. It is possible that the Queen managed to regain control of her horse and flee."

Arthur drew in an attempt at a steadying breath, and his hand brushed over his mouth in a subconscious show of worry.

"Snakes in the Northern Wood?" Mordred considered skeptically.

"There is strong evidence that the attack was magical in origin," Merlin confirmed.

"Mother," Mordred bit out, turning away to pace.

"She's nothing to do with you," Arthur headed off his ward's misplaced guilt, staring hard into the distance. "Morgana has taken Gwen."

"Now that we've identified the toxin, the knights should only take a few hours to recover." Merlin straightened determinedly, already knowing what his friend was thinking.

Arthur nodded and strode purposefully out, calling back. "Get word to the stables. We ride at first light."

Mordred turned back to exchange a hasty, wordless disagreement with the Guardian, then chased after Arthur.

"Sire, it would be my honour to lead this quest."

"Absolutely not. I need you to remain here and rule as Regent in my absence," Arthur insisted, not even slowing his pace in the slightest.

"With all due respect-" Mordred began, but Arthur interrupted.

"Morgana is your Mother."

"Yes. It may suit our needs to have someone present who knows her mind. She might even hesitate to strike down her own kin."

"Except you forget, Mordred: I am her brother and you, yourself witnessed her attempt to end me."

"That is all the more reason for _you_ to remain and delegate this task to someone of a less vital position, King Arthur." Mordred firmly intoned, more tempted than ever to reach into the ruler's mind and _push._

Arthur stopped at the door to his chambers and turned stiffly to face his willful nephew. His jaw clenched and unclenched at the sight of Mordred's too familiar stubborn expression. Arthur's self-restraint impressed even him as he managed a strictly modulated response. "I know that this is difficult for you as it has been difficult for me, too." His tone hardened, shifting from parental authority to the judgment of a Ruler. "But as your King, I have made my decision. You will respect it. You will remain, and I am certain that you will make me proud when the Queen and I return."

"I know how to weather the Priestess' wrath better than I know the hearts of your subjects," Mordred replied, his voice already sounding resigned to the fate of Regent.

"That may be true," Arthur accepted. "But it is not your burden to bear. I have no doubt that you can woo them." Mordred watched his Uncle enter his chambers, and closed his eyes when the door slammed in his face.

"That is my fear."

* * *

 _ **A/N**_ **:** Hey guys, so this chapter's sort of a border chappie. It is the end of this episode, yet it also ended up kinda bleeding into the next one a little, too. Also, for anyone who bothers with the songlist, I can't stress enough how perfectly the Runner by Zack Hemsey suits my Mordred, and also if you haven't heard Forced Vision by Saltillo before it's a perfect match for this story they are both definitely worth listening to, youtube ought to have them. I used the ending phrase of the Saltillo song as the title for this chapter. Thanks for reading, and special thanks to _Agana of the Night, SisterOfAnElvenWanabe, and Linorien for their reviews._

 _His Majesty's Secret Songlist:_

1\. The Runner-Zack Hemsey(Chapter one-Mordred on the roof/Mordred flees the fae/Walker isn't dead)

2\. Brotsjor-Òlafur Arnalds (Emrys descends under the ancient tree/frees Mordred from the unreality of our present)

3\. WhyNot-Woodju (Arthur says goodbye to Mordred and asks for forgiveness before offering his own life in trade to Nemain)

4\. Forced Vision-Saltillo* (Mordred's coronation is a nightmare & the source of the name of this chapter)


End file.
